High and Dry
by bellaofthebarre
Summary: "I am a troubled little sweetheart, dipping my nose in powdered sugar poison when Daddy isn't looking. He is Green, so green - all smoke and ash, my fire and flame. His love is warm chocolate chip cookies and ice cream cones melting on cobblestone streets." Pretty girls who refuse to be tamed, and boys that play with fire.
1. prologue

**PROLOGUE**

The warm, tepid air of Northern California's unrelenting heat fills the cab of the car, twists her hair in tangled tendrils about her face. She brushes away a stray lock, the rough suspension of her Jeep bouncing over even the smallest of dips, jostling her… but she's smiling.

A phone rings, incessant and unrelenting, on the passenger seat beside her and remains unanswered - she's lost count of how many calls have come through. They've all begun to stream into one long buzz, one person trying desperately to reach her after another. She turns the stereo up, smiling her almost permanent grin - she could turn off the phone, she supposes… but there's a sick thrill in knowing she's screening them, a sick thrill in knowing they're hearing her voice mail. A girl from a different time, a different place…

' _Hey, you've reached Bella Swan - you know what to do._ '

Her mouth is dry, and she probably should have stopped at that gas station a couple miles back for a bottle of water or a strawberry Yoohoo. But, she's still smiling.

She's not sure what possesses her to look down at her blinking screen, but the name that flashes back suddenly has her scrambling for the damn thing for the first time in hours. She's turned down the music, tapped the button and shoved the phone between her shoulder and ear before thinking twice.

And she really should have thought twice.

"Hello? Sue, is that you?" she says, voice rough from underuse.

It's not who she's expecting - not at all. She isn't prepared for this, doesn't have her pithy, sassy speech at the ready… not that it would matter much, anyway. The warm, velvet cadence of his voice has her crumbling almost instantly.

" _Bella?_ "

The car swerves to the right, hitting a rough patch of gravel, kicking up orange-tinted earth in a cloud of dust.

She can hang up, right now. She _should_ hang up.

But, now she can hear him breathing. His slow, deep inhales and thin, shaky exhales. She can still smell him on her skin; pretend she can taste him if she licks her lips, all his honey and wine.

"Baby, please... fuck, just say something. _Anything_ ," he groans, and she can imagine him now - hand gripping the roots of his hair, running roughly through the untamed tendrils. If she were there she'd be telling him to knock it off, that she loves his hair too much for him to go ripping it out. She'd run her fingers through it, scrape her short nails along his scalp... and he'd hiss, maybe moan, turn his head and kiss her wrist.

She opens her mouth, hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles are a concerning shade of white… but no words come out.

" _Fuck,_ " he gasps, and an awful sound rips out of him, rough and harsh - a sob. " _Fuck_ , baby… I've tried to think, but I-I don't know what I could have done. I'm sick, so fucking sick thinking about it all. I'm _sorry_... tell me how I can fix this, tell me how I can make you come home."

 _Home._ Once upon a time, she'd thought home was a place, somewhere wet and fresh and lush she'd been ripped from. But home isn't a destination - it's a person. It's in her Green boy, her man, tucked inside his chest beneath skin and bones and screaming heavy-harsh beats at her to return from miles away.

She swallows, and delicately clears her throat. He inhales on the other end of the line and pauses, waiting for her.

"You can't. That's the problem, Edward… you couldn't have fixed this, or fixed _me_. I made these decisions, and I have to live with them. You… you don't need me there, fucking your life up - "

"Are you _insane?_ " he shouts and she flinches, nearly dropping the phone before re-adjusting it. "I don't _need you?_ Of all the ridiculous… the thought that _I_ don't need _you_. You're the _only_ thing I need, Bella. Fuck everything else."

"And that's the problem, Edward," she whispers, licking her lips and continuing before he interrupts. She can hear his harsh breathing, his anger. "You have _so_ much going for you, every opportunity at your feet, and you'd give it all up for me. I don't want you to have to make that decision, I don't want to… to ruin that for you. Because that's what I do, isn't it? I _ruin_ people."

" _Stop it!_ " he growls, and if she didn't think she was going to Hell before this, she surely is now - because her chest constricts at the sound, her thighs tremble… his voice has always been able to effect her this way. "Are you even hearing yourself right now? Did you forget what we said?"

She should pull over, truly - her tears are clouding her vision now, making the long stretch of road ahead of her wobble and blur, but she can only push forward on the gas, can only force herself to keep putting all these miles between them. And maybe, eventually, it might start to hurt less… because right now, it's absolutely unbearable.

"No…"

" _No?_ Well, I think you have, so let me give you a refresher: _you and me, baby_. You are my _person._ My sweet sunshine girl," he sighs, and his voice catches, wobbles. "You're mine, and I'm your's - _always_."

The desperate sob she struggled to keep down wrenches free, bursting from between her lips in a choked, raw noise that has him gasping, sobbing back to her.

"God, Bella, _please!_ Just come back. Or tell me where you are, I'll come get you. I can't - _I can't_. I need you."

Her hair is sticking to the unrelenting tracks of hot tears flowing down her cheeks, and she uses one hand to push the offending tendrils roughly away. She could vomit right now - she wants to. She thought he'd be upset, even expected him to ask her back… but not this, not this horrendous begging. Not these loud, panicked sobs she feels in her bones.

"I…"

"Isabella."

Her breath chokes her, squeezing into a tight little gasp.

"... _Dad?_ "

Her father exhales a shaky breath into the phone and she hears shuffling, some muffled shouting that is undoubtedly Edward. Calm voices that try to soothe him, the unmistakable tinkling bells of Alice… and Esme?

What is _Esme Cullen_ doing in the same room as her father?

A door shuts, and then there's an eerie silence on the other end. The scenery around her begins to change, from dry heat slowly into the occasional spot of green.

"Yeah, Bells… it's me."

She hasn't heard her father sound so… _informal_ in such a long time. It's throwing her for a complete loop.

She doesn't respond. He sighs again, and she can picture him now - sitting at his desk in the study, rubbing a hand roughly over his face.

"I'm not going to ask you to come back… I want to, believe me, but I know you won't listen. Bella, we're all going insane here. I don't expect you to tell me where you're going, but at least… at least tell me where you are now."

She wipes her nose with the back of her wrist, roughly rubbing away a fresh stream of tear tracks and slowing the Jeep to look around for any discerning signs. She's aware this could blow everything for her. Her father knows her well enough to make a wild guess at where she's headed but even if he doesn't, the second he tells Edward… her little joyride will be for naught.

"Eureka."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm a couple miles outside of Eureka, California."

He stops, and it sounds like he's holding his breath.

"You… you drove that far, already? Have you even stopped to eat, to sleep?"

"No. I… haven't been hungry. Or tired."

"You have your purse, right? Your cards?"

"Dad…"

This was the conversation she wanted to avoid, mainly for her peace of mind - she hadn't planned too far ahead, truth be told. She had some cash on her, but not nearly enough for everything she'd need - a place to stay, food, clothing. There were a few large bills in her wallet, but aside from that everything was on her credit card - her _father's_ credit card. He'd be checking statements, he'd know where she was. And besides that… she didn't want to have to rely on him.

"Isabella, you're going to listen to me now, and you best not hang up. If you think I'm completely clueless, you have another thing coming. I know you… I know where you're headed. I'm not going to presume why you've done this, though I have an inkling. And I'm not going to try and stop you. But I want you to use those cards. I need to know you're… you're safe, that you're taking care of yourself."

She inhales slowly, taking a moment to calm herself before there's a banging from somewhere in the background of the call.

" _Isabella! Isabella, if you can hear me -_ "

His voice sends a tremor right down to the base of her spine.

"Is… is that…"

Her father swears - really, actually swears. "I told him not to come here, not while - not while the Cullen boy is around."

"Oh, my God - don't let him hurt Edward. Please, Daddy!"

The banging continues. His voice reaches straight into her heart, grips it and twists it, and the fear she'd almost forgotten is back again.

"Bella, you listen to me - I do not like to admit when I'm wrong, if I can help it. You know that. But just this once, I will… I was wrong about Jacob Black. And I was wrong about Edward Cullen. I wish I could go back and change everything that's happened. I can't, but I can assure you… no harm will come to that boy, if I can help it."

"Thank you… thank you," she cries, biting down on her lip so hard she's sure the skin will break.

"I have to go deal with... _this_. Please, just let me know when you've settled, when you're safe," he sighs, sounding completely defeated. "I… love you, bug."

Years. It's been years since she's heard that nickname.

"I love you, too, Daddy."


	2. rehab

_"Yes, I been black, but when I come back  
You'll know, know, know..."_

 _'Rehab' - Amy Winehouse_

* * *

 _July, summer before senior year…_

Three little white lines. Powdery perfection, staring back at her from atop gleaming marble, Daddy's credit card covered in it. She's nearly salivating, her brain buzzing with anticipation, focused completely on those _three little white lines_.

 _Line them up, keep it clean… thin and straight, don't leave any on the countertop._

"Alice! Get your tiny ass over here, before B steals your bump."

Bella rolls her eyes behind cherry-red heart-shaped sunglasses, perched on her face despite the darkened room. She taps the black credit card quickly on the marble and dips her finger into the excess that falls off, sticking it in her mouth instantly and rubbing her gums. Her eyes close, savoring the feeling… a slight tingle, and then glorious numbness.

"As if. I wouldn't dare try and hog any of Rosalie Hale's precious dust. Don't you know, it's the finest you can get this side of the border…"

Rosalie snorts, tossing a wave of perfect blonde hair over a shoulder and reaching over the counter with a long, manicured fingernail to trail along one of Bella's perfectly cut lines, scooping a bit into the curve of her pinky nail and bringing it to her nose. She stops, raising a brow, before giving a quick sniff, rubbing her nostril and closing her eyes.

Bella watches with an arched brow of her own, still enjoying the effects even second-hand. Rosalie's shoulders drop, her breathing slowing and when her eyes open again her pupils are large, pushing nearly all trace of blue from her irises.

"God damn…" she sighs. "That is some good shit."

Alice skips up, planting a kiss on Bella's cheek briefly.

"Flawless cuts - as always," she chirps, taking her place in front of her line, looking chic as can be tonight with her blunt Parisian bob and red lipstick.

Bella smiles, rolling her neck before glancing first at Rose and then at Alice. They bend simultaneously, making quick work of their poison.

The effect is instantaneous - a warm feeling envelops her, the tips of her fingers and toes tingling, and her brain is flashing and crackling and buzzing. Her skin feels electric. _She_ feels electric.

Invincible.

Unattainable.

We are the dangerous youth, the cutthroat cuties. And we are unstoppable.

* * *

 _September, senior year…_

The too-bright light streams through the windows as the curtains are wrenched open, shocking me awake, my brain still muddled - half awake, half in dreamland with my memories. Lately, that's all they've been… memories, rather than anything imaginative. I think perhaps my brain is tired, too fed up after too long and lacking the energy to create anything fresh.

I would prefer nothing at all, really. It certainly doesn't help that they're all centered around the one thing I'm in this God forsaken place to forget.

"Rise and shine, Isabella Marie! You've got a big day ahead of you."

I bury my head into the large, fluffy pillow and let out a long groan of irritation.

"No offense, Sue… but could you possibly _screw off_?"

Her laugh is like bells, all unaffected cheer and chipper positivity, and I would hate her for it - should hate her for it - but Sue is entirely too likeable. And besides, she's put up with my crap for the past eleven weeks. Not many people can say that.

"Not likely, Isabella. It's your last day with me, we're going to make it count."

The bed dips, and I peek up from my pillow cautiously, brushing tangled locks of hair away from my face. Sue sits in her perfect maroon polo and pressed beige slacks, black hair pinned neatly away from her face, warm skin absolutely glowing as she holds out a steaming mug of coffee - decaf, no doubt - with an entirely too kind grin.

For the millionth time in my life, I absolutely hate myself.

"I don't deserve you," I sigh, sitting up against the cherry wood headboard and accepting the cup gratefully, trying in vain to tame my hair behind my ears before taking a sip - milky and sweet, just how I like it. "I can't believe you're still putting up with me, right to the end. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd given up long before now."

Sue's smile falters for a minute, her eyes softening as she reaches and pats my leg atop the bed covers.

"You deserve everything and more, mija," Sue sighs. "And I wouldn't have given up on you. You underestimate me, and yourself."

My fist clenches, so tightly I can feel my short nails digging into my palm, and I stop and smooth the sheets beneath me before I draw blood.

"I don't deserve anything, at all."

Sue ' _tsks'_ , scooting up the bed more and grasping my fidgeting hand in her own, shaking it to grab my attention. She waits until I look up before speaking.

"I know I've said this before, but I'm going to say it again. I hope you're listening this time, mi cariño… you didn't see yourself when you first came to me. The girl you were then, and the girl you are now are two completely different people."

"Sure, but neither of them are _good_ people…"

"Por Dios, Isabella… how can I get through to you with this?" Sue says, her brows furrowed. "You are a good person. Good and kind, sweet and selfless. The things you've done don't always define the person you've come to be."

I can only nod noncommittally, unwilling to argue her point any further. It _is_ my last day here, which would make any sane person want to jump for joy - but it also means my last day with Sue, one of the only people in this entire place who has been able to make a real, true difference in me. I don't want to waste it arguing a moot point.

I take another sip of my coffee - light roast, no cream and sugar but a heavy helping of condensed milk - before placing it gingerly on the side table and stretching my arms above my head. A cursory glance at the clock reads just after 6AM.

"So… what's on the agenda for today?"

Sue smiles, placing a warm palm briefly to my cheek before getting up and clapping her hands.

"A big, celebratory 'last morning' breakfast… but first, I've got a little surprise for you," Sue says, walking over to the bedroom door and reaching out into the hall. I grimace briefly at the thought of a 'big breakfast', but once Sue turns back around she can hardly contain her smile.

The guitar case is weathered, and has definitely seen better days. But that can only mean one thing...

I gasp, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and hopping up, bouncing on the balls of my feet and feeling so much like Alice in that moment it makes me laugh a little.

"No way! Where is he?!" I squeak, flying past Sue to peek out into the hall.

And there, climbing up the last step onto the landing, hauling his own guitar case beside him is Jasper.

My feet are moving of their own volition, carrying me down the plush carpeted hallway and straight toward the tall, lanky blonde at the end of it.

Jasper Hale had been brought in the second week I was admitted, as a compromise. I was still unable to have contact with friends or family, and was livid about not being able to talk to Alice or Rose. In turn, I was deliberately sabotaging any form of treatment. Sue found a loophole in the form of Rosalie's older brother, a familiar face - Jasper was a studio musician with dreams of making it big and was hired as a 'musical therapy' teacher for the patients.

Only, I seemed to be the only patient he was 'treating'. Funny, that.

Within the first week of his arrival it became obvious that not only Jasper's familiar presence, but also his guitar and voice lessons, were making a world of difference in my progress. For the past two weeks, he was needed back in Los Angeles for a few gigs he'd been booked for. I wasn't expecting to see him until after I was discharged.

He sees me right at the last minute, dropping his guitar with a dull _'thud'_ and catching me as I launch myself at him.

"Well… mornin' to you, too, Bella," he laughs, placing me gently to the floor and holding me in front of him, looking me up and down. Calculating, assessing - I can see it all on his face.

This is the part I hate, the part I'm not sure anyone who has seen me in here will be able to get over. I count Sue and Jasper as friends but outside the confines of these walls, in the real world, are they ever going to be able to separate 'Rehab Bella' from 'Real Life Bella'?

"Do I make the grade, Jazz?" I say, a wry smile on my face. He blinks, giving me a tentative grin in response.

"Sorry, B… I just worried about you while I was gone, that's all," he sighs, then shrugs. "It doesn't look like I really had to, though. Sue's been taking good care of you - got some good meat on your bones!"

He smiles, and I tries to smile back… really, I do. His intentions are nothing but pure, but they do little to silence the voice in the back of my mind that tells me adding any 'meat to my bones' is anything _but_ good.

Jasper's grin falters, and he opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

"So! Where are we practising today? Outside, by the pool, in the music room…"

"Uh-uh, Isabella… don't think you're fooling me. Just because it's your last day, doesn't mean you can get out of - "

I spin, eyes wide and pleading as I beg.

"Oh, no. No, no, _no_ … please, Sue! Don't make me!"

Jasper is laughing behind me full out, hands on his knees and wiping tears from his eyes.

Unfortunately for me, if there's one thing Sue Clearwater isn't... it's a pushover.

"Go get changed, Isabella Marie. Your mat is in the closet."

I pout, wanting to be mature about the whole thing but stomping my feet despite myself as I sulk back to my room to change.

* * *

If I were a better person, I might actually enjoy yoga.

Unfortunately, I'm not… and as such, instead of feeling relaxed and grounded, I'm feeling much more like a misshapen food court pretzel.

Sweat runs down my back in steady rivulets as the instructor before me drones on, her levelled, monotone voice driving me up the damn wall.

"And we're moving from revolved triangle, slowly lowering ourselves down into Marichi's pose… good, good."

By the end of the hour, I'm drenched in sweat and my muscles are aching. I'd have much prefered going out for a morning run with the other half of the group, but I was banned from doing anything that might burn too many calories or overwork me. I'd been jonesing for a run for over two months now, and it had absolutely nothing to do with my stupid weight. I'd loved to run even before… _everything_.

After a quick shower, I run a brush through my wet hair, throw on leggings and a large sweatshirt and pad into the kitchen. As expected Sue is there, flitting around the table - a table that is absolutely filled to the edges with food. Pancakes, waffles, bacon, eggs, toast, fruit, hashbrowns…

My stomach rolls. It would be so easy to dive in, fill my plate to almost overflowing. I want to… I'm encouraged to, even. But something stops me.

Or rather, someone. Many someone's.

The kitchen and adjoining dining room are filled with quiet murmurs as I walk in, but goes completely silent once I've been spotted.

Jasper, I have no problems with. It's the girls at the table, eyes trained on me, narrowed into slits that give me pause.

Irina, Kate and their posse sit with their plates empty in front of them, backs straight, looking completely venomous.

I feel myself wilt before I can stop it.

"Isabella! Come, sit. Eat!" Sue says, flapping her hands. Two more counsellors hover at the breakfast bar with filled plates of their own, arms crossed, watching me with eagle eyes. I hesitate for a moment. One of the counsellors narrows his eyes at me, and I spring into action.

I sit down beside Jasper, reaching forward blindly to pile my plate with a pancake, a few scrambled eggs and a small bowl of fruit. I busy myself with pouring maple syrup, sprinkling salt and pepper, eyes down and focused on my ministrations even as I feel every other set of eyes watching me - even the damn chef watches, his spatula hovering atop the griddle.

I pick up a crispy piece of bacon right from the serving platter, and it feels like the whole room stops.

Tentatively, I lean forward and take a bite...

And nearly groan aloud.

Nine months, three days. That's how long it's been since I had a piece of bacon. I'd almost forgotten what it tasted like.

Everyone starts speaking again, all at once, and though they're all relatively quiet it sounds like a cacophony to my ears.

Sue comes around the side of the table and reaches with boths hands to brush my still-wet hair from around my face, settling it down my back and placing her hands comfortingly on my shoulders as I munch quietly, almost reverently on the bacon. She sits beside me, taking a sip of her orange juice and leaning over, speaking quietly.

"I'm so proud of you, mija. So proud."

Gratitude swells in my chest, not an unfamiliar feeling but all the more potent with the knowledge that my days with this painfully kind woman are numbered - literally. Tears spring to my eyes suddenly, and I suck them back down because I'm a basketcase, but I'm not enough of a basketcase to go crying over a plate of pancakes.

I can hear my name, a venomous hiss from the other end of the table, and Irina glares at me unabashedly as I look up. The next time she speaks it's louder, purposefully so.

" _There she is again, little princess Bella Swan… everyone treating her like she's made of fucking glass or something. If they only knew…"_

If they only knew, indeed, Irina...

Jasper nudges my side with his elbow and I look up at him, blinking rapidly to clear my eyes. He has an orange slice in his mouth over his teeth, and his eyes are crossed. It's so… so ridiculous, so childish…

I burst out laughing, smacking a hand over my mouth to stop the sound, eyes wide as if I've even shocked myself.

And, really… I have.

Breakfast is nice, but tense. As is expected, I only eat about half of what I put on the plate - a couple bites of my eggs, a few more of my pancake but to my (and Sue's and Jasper's) delight, I get the entire bowl of fruit down. I have Sue to thank for that, I'm sure. It was all my favourites - juicy sun-ripened strawberries, delectable chunks of mango, crisp slices of apple.

I'm eager to start my lesson with Jasper, but am stopped on my way to grab the guitar from my room by Dr. Denali.

"Miss Swan. If you would be so kind, could I see you in my office?"

I swallow, regarding the woman cautiously. "I'm… uh, just on my way to my musical therapy lesson with Mr. Hale."

Dr. Denali smiles, a tight little grin, and I know I've already lost. The woman has always won, with her too-tight blonde bun and finely pressed suits, exuding a distinct air of 'don't-mess-with-me' that I have been loathe to fight. Well, aside from those first few weeks here. But little was able to console me, then.

"It'll only take a moment, Miss Swan. Just a few questions prior to your discharge."

I follow the woman into her office, all clean lines and stark white, modern furniture. So much unlike what one would expect from a psychiatrist's office, especially with the way the rest of the treatment center looked - browns and taupes, warm lighting, a typical Californian mansion hiding a 'luxury addiction treatment center' beneath its welcoming facade.

But, that was just how Dr. Denali operated. Sometimes, I thought the good doctor might be a better psychiatry _patient_ than a psychiatrist herself - I, for one, would love to pick her brain and find out what makes her so… cold. Detached.

I settle into a white, modern wing-back chair across the desk from the woman, crossing my legs under me and fidgeting with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Dr. Denali regards me for a moment before reaching forward for something on her desk - a file, I realize, as she flips it open.

"So, Isabella… how have you been today?"

"Um… alright, I suppose?" I say, like it's a question. Really, I'm not sure what she wants to hear from me here.

"That's good," Dr. Denali says, pushing her glasses further up her too-straight nose. "Are you feeling anxious at all about going back home?"

 _Wow - cut right to the chase, why don't you…_

"Well, yeah, who wouldn't be? Especially now that school's already started. I'm betting I'll stick out like even more of a sore thumb than before."

"Do you feel ready to go back?"

That gives me pause. Do I feel ready? I could stay longer, I suppose. It certainly wouldn't hurt. I would get to be around Sue even longer, probably continue my lessons with Jasper. But, I miss home. I miss Alice and Rosalie..

I miss my dad.

A surprising notion, missing Charles Swan. It stands to reason that just over two months without seeing him would do that to me, but it's not like I even saw him much at home. That was part of the issue.

 _Daddy issues, Bella? Really? How typical…_

Nevertheless, I did miss him. Our phone conversations, though brief, had been getting progressively better and better the closer to my expected homecoming date it had been. I had time in here to think about all the good times, to consider ways I could bring them back again. Ways I could actually talk to my Dad, rather than avoid all serious conversations and continue to push everything under the rug.

I was feeling, daresay, a little… optimistic about our relationship, for the first time in a very, very long time.

But there was always that cynical voice in the back of my mind, whispering bad things to me - like how nothing would really change, how it would be just the same as it ever was. How, if I knew what was good for me, I'd just go back to how things were before. _I'd liked how it was before, didn't I? I'd had fun?_

Oh, I certainly had - and it had almost been my undoing.

"Yes," I answer finally, in a voice that sounds stronger than I feel. "I'm ready."

Dr. Denali smiles again, more of a slight purse of her lips, and nods once before pulling a small pad of paper out, scribbling on it.

"I'm sending you with a prescription for Lexapro, as well as your Lorazepam. Feel free to start it whenever you feel the need to. If you remember, we tried you with Lexapro when you were first admitted and you responded quite well to it."

 _Sure, if 'quite well' means feeling like a zombie one minute and bouncing off the walls, completely manic the next._

"Okay," I say instead, pulling at the sleeve of my sweatshirt more, tugging on a loose thread. I was starting to feel like all this little 'check-up' entailed was pumping me with more drugs.

"All your prescriptions and treatment instructions will be contained in your exit package and given directly to your father. Do you understand why, Miss Swan?"

 _Because I'm a complete mess. Because you don't trust me to follow through with my treatment plan. Because my father most likely doesn't, either._

"Yes, I understand."

Dr. Denali nods, seemingly satisfied.

"Good. You may go now… and if I don't see you, Miss Swan, best of luck."

 _Oh, I'll need it, Dr. D..._

* * *

Jasper chooses to teach me 'Rehab' by Amy Winehouse. We're not able to make it through the song completely for nearly half an hour once I've learned it, because I'm laughing much too hard.

Sue sneaks in sometime during the lesson, and her presence spurs me on enough to actually get through it completely. Jasper's arrangement is lively and upbeat, and he hunches over his acoustic and plays lead as I sit just to his right, strumming out an easy rhythm on my own guitar and belting to the room. Sue is clapping and humming along.

When the song ends, there are tears in her eyes. I tuck myself into the woman's warm embrace, letting the comfort of a mother envelop me for the first time in years. Sue smells of cinnamon and coffee, so much unlike my own mother's mix of cloying and musky Oscar de la Renta and weed.

I sit by the pool under the shade of a large umbrella, reading aloud from my battered copy of ' _Romeo and Juliet_ ' as Sue braids my long hair into a perfect plait. Jasper sprawls beside me in swim trunks, plucking his guitar. The other patients come and go as their schedule permits, and when Irina, Kate and Co. strut outside - their tight bikinis still sagging in places, trying to cling desperately to skin and bone - I thank whoever is listening for Jasper and Sue's protection. I'd learned the hard way not to be alone when that particular group decided to attack.

I pull my journal out at some point, scribbling away furiously.

"Jasper, I think our Isabella is going to be a very famous writer some day with the way she's always got her nose in that book… don't you think?"

Jazz looks up from his guitar, throws me a wink, and then goes straight back to playing.

When dinner time rolls around, Sue suggests the three of us sit outside by the bonfire to eat, away from the busy dining room and curious stares and glares.

Word had finally gotten out about me leaving tomorrow, and as usual it was a polarizing experience. You were either the type of person to feel completely happy for the person who got to leave, or completely miserable - jealous might be a better descriptor. I was never anything but happy for them. What good would it do to begrudge someone else their happiness, the pride of their progress? It should be something to celebrate, something to give hope to everyone else.

Even if you had little to no hope for yourself.

By the time the sky darkens and it becomes too cool out for us to stay outside, nearly everyone else has gone to bed. Sue ushers Jasper and I into the kitchen and pulls out a small pot, milk and three mugs.

"Oh, hell yes!" Jasper says, clapping his hands as we perch on stools at the breakfast bar. "Are we breaking out the 'Abuelita'?"

Sue's answering smile is enough and soon we're enjoying giant mugs of thick, rich hot chocolate. I even chance grabbing a small danish from my skipped dessert to dip in the drink, much to Sue's utter delight.

As I slowly make my way upstairs, I look around, truly taking everything in. I feel a bit silly, but I silently thank the walls as I make my way around, thank the kitchen, thank the pool and the music room. I take a long, hot bath in the immense marble tub and thank that, too. I thank the large, fluffy bed as I settle under the covers, resting my head atop Sue's lap as she reads a novel aloud to me in Spanish, her lilting voice carrying me off into sleep.

Right before I fully give in, though, I stop to give her thanks once more as the woman quietly slips off the bed, turning off lights and adjusting covers.

"Sue… thank you. For everything."

Her hand runs through my hair tenderly, maternally, and if I wasn't so tired I'm sure I'd be crying.

"Don't speak like this is the end, Isabella. This is only the beginning for you."

* * *

"You'll let me know as soon as you get home?"

"Yes, Sue."

"And you'll give your father my number, just in case?"

" _Yes_ , Sue."

"Don't forget, if you can't reach me you can always get a hold of Leah. She's minutes away…"

"Sue, you're only a thirty minute drive away! If it's really that bad, I'm sure I can hold off at least that long."

"Minutes away, Isabella! Promise me!"

Sue's daughter, Leah, was a sports medicine major at UCLA and had been down to Malibu a few times to visit her mother. During her trips, she and I had gotten along surprisingly well and exchanged numbers almost immediately. It was entirely unofficial, not at all outlined in the treatment plan, but Sue made sure Leah and I got together at least once a week for coffee as a check-up. I tried not to feel like it was because perhaps Sue didn't have faith in me to stay clean and take care of myself.

"I promise, Sue," I laugh, hauling my last bag into the trunk of the Town Car and sighing. Jasper places his own solitary bag next to mine, shutting it and giving me a sympathetic pat on the back and a small smile before ducking into the sleek black sedan. I turn back, eyes to the ground, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Well… I guess this is it?"

Surprisingly strong arms wrap around me, squeezing tightly as Sue's hand comes up to rest against the back of my head. I throw my arms around the woman, tears coming fast and steady now, great big drops running down my flushed cheeks.

"Oh, _mi hija, mi hija_ … I'm so proud of how far you've come, how much you've grown, what you've accomplished. You're such a beautiful young lady, so much life to live. I'm excited to see where it takes you," Sue says, her voice watery behind all the strength.

"I don't want to leave you," I sob, ugly, rough sounds buried in the soft fabric of Sue's blouse. "I don't know if I can make it on my own..."

Sue 'tsks', and it makes me laugh a little because even in a moment like this, I've still done something to frustrate the woman.

"You won't be without me, not unless you want to be. I'm a phone call away, a short drive - just like you said. And Isabella… you _can_ make it on your own. Trust in yourself, and if you can't do that, trust me."

I can only nod, swiping at my undoubtedly red, splotchy face with the sleeves of my hoodie.

"Now, go… go show them who Isabella Swan really is."

* * *

The silence of the car after Jazz leaves is nearly deafening. His exit leaves me entirely too much in my own thoughts, in my own mind.

The streets become familiar, little by little... from the densely packed buildings of Los Angeles proper, down the I-405 North, creeping along Sunset Boulevard. I spot the corner where I watched Rosalie trade with her dealer for the first time, the Whole Foods that banned me and Alice for throwing up in the deli section… the spot where Jacob Black parked his father's car and kissed me for the first time.

The last one sends a chill up my spine more than the others do. And as they turn onto my street, the gratuitously lavish homes of Bel-Air's finest towering above them like giants, I begin to truly panic for the first time…

 _I had expected it to feel different, all of it. For this car to feel different, this street. So far, it feels the exact same. I've changed though, I'm sure of it… haven't I?_

The grand gates slowly open before me, all imposing wrought iron, and the car ambles up the stone driveway. The house sits atop a slight incline, a behemoth of white and black, shutters and French doors. It's beautiful, lavish with flawlessly maintained lawns and gardens.

And it's not home. Not really.

Home is somewhere wet and lush and green, vibrant jades and deep browns, fog and seasons where leaves really change color and snow falls easily, naturally.

I long for it more than ever, as I step out into the warmth of an early September morning in California. It's barely past 7AM, but I'm already exhausted - at all the tears already shed, at the impending stress that awaits on the other side of that door.

If I were back home, I would be wrapped in a fluffy blanket with a cup of tea and a good book, perhaps watching a light misting of rain just outside the window.

 _God, what I wouldn't give for rain right now._

I shield my eyes with a hand in vain, everything too bright, too much. It's when I'm regarding the new, ridiculous design carved into a gigantic bush out front that my first big shock of the day finds me.

"Isabella?"

Charles Swan stands with one foot inside the house and one out, like he's not entirely certain he really wants to be there. An uneven frown marrs his face, his heavy mustache tilting off to one side. Perfectly pressed button-down and slacks, shined-to-perfection black oxfords, hair combed back with pomade.

He's never looked less like my father than he does now.

I regard him just as warily, squinting and trying to picture the man before me as he used to be what feels like lifetimes ago… soft, worn flannel shirt and Levi's, smelling of pine and smoke, wrapping me in warm hugs and pinching my cold-flushed cheeks, sitting me on his lap as I sip from a big mug of hot chocolate.

That's the Charles Swan I know - the guy that would insist you call him 'Charlie.' But, as with all things, change is inevitable… I just had no idea how irreversible it could be. Not until Grandpa Swan passed and left the entire bulk of his multi-million dollar company to my Dad.

' _I don't think I'm prepared for this, Renee…' I had overheard my father saying one night, all those years ago._

' _You knew this could happen, Charlie. You always knew it was a possibility.'_

' _Well, of course I did! I got the damn business degree, didn't I? I just didn't think I'd ever have to use it.'_

I take a deep breath, straightening my back and taking stiff, quick strides forward. He tenses, stepping out fully onto the porch and watching me approach.

 _What's the game plan here, Bella? You're moving like a bat out of hell, with no idea what you're going to do. Do you shake his hand? Give him a high-five? You certainly can't hug him, can you?_

It's not until I've hopped up the last step and wrapped my arms completely around my father's torso, squeezing tightly, that I think there may be a serious disconnect between my brain and my body.

He stiffens, hesitating before reaching around and placing one hand to the back of my head, the other roughly patting my back once, twice. It's so familiar, I close my eyes… if I try really hard, I can block out the stifling heat, the sound of traffic in the distance. I inhale… and immediately step back.

He smells of aftershave and Bleu de Chanel, so foreign, so unlike the father I once knew.

"Glad to have you back, Isabella," he smiles strangely, clearing his throat and watching me as if viewing a rabid animal in an enclosure at the zoo.

I can only nod, my momentary fantasy of a different life broken in an instant… if I were really there, back home, he'd have called me 'bug'.

"Glad to be back, sir."

His awkward half-smile, half-grimace falls completely into a frown and he opens his mouth as if to speak, when there's a distinctive ringing from somewhere deep inside the house.

"You should get that," I sigh, stepping through into the foyer as our driver, Mr. Bailey, walks past with my bags. "If they're calling the office phone, it must be important."

I don't give him a chance to respond, making quick work of the stairs, Mr. Bailey right behind me. I don't turn to acknowledge him as he calls out to me, confusion clear in his tone.

I don't want to face the possibility that it already seems as if nothing has changed.

Mr. Bailey places my things quickly, quietly in my bedroom before exiting with a small smile, leaving me standing in the too-large, too-quiet room. It's not just as I left it, as I was expecting it to be.

Just over two months ago, I had left my bed unmade in a desperate rush, already late meeting up with Alice and Rose at the party. My pajamas had been thrown carelessly in the middle of my room, and after a quick shower my still-wet towel joined them on the floor. I left my underwear drawer half-open, my closet ajar. And the discreet little shoe box under my bed was carelessly left unconcealed from my rush to grab one of the small, plastic baggies of powder inside. A stupid, rookie mistake if there ever was one.

Now… my king-sized, white wrought-iron bed, perfectly made; a quick glance in my drawers showing everything washed and folded; a peek into my spotless bathroom, a pile of fluffy towels stacked on the counter; my clothing hung perfectly in the closet. No little shoe box under my bed.

My eyes squeeze shut as I realize, for a brief moment, I wished it had still been there.

Impossible, of course. But still…

A little chirping sound rings out from somewhere on my desk, and I tangle a hand into my hair as I approach cautiously. A shiny iPhone sits, charging, lighting up with a very welcome sight - a picture of a smiling face, elfin features and winged liner, a chic black Parisian bob. The name flashes at me:

 _Alice Brandon_

I nearly jump on the phone as I scramble to pick it up.

"Are you back?!" comes the voice on the other line, a high-pitched near-shrill before I even get the chance to breathe.

"Alice!" I cry, sinking down into my desk chair. "Oh my God, you don't know how good it is to hear your voice…"

A small, delicate little sob crackles over the line. "Oh, I know _exactly_ how good it is. It's been torture not being able to talk to you. That witch Dr. D and her embargo on ' _outside contact_ '."

I sigh, letting out a small laugh despite myself. "I know. Something about how 'the last two weeks of the program are incredibly precarious, as a patient is likely to return to old patterns with very little influence from troubling sources…'"

"Ugh, _stop!_ I don't _ever_ want to hear about that robo-bitch again!"

And I'm fully laughing now, my head thrown back, letting the feeling take me for just a moment.

"How did Daddy Dearest take your homecoming?"

"The jury is still out on that one. I hugged him and he looked at me as if he'd just seen a ghost."

Alice sighs, and I can picture my best friend now, laying on her gigantic circular bed on her tummy, ankles interlocked in the air as she swings her feet back and forth.

"Don't push poor Charles too far, too soon, B. You may have had a come-to-Jesus moment in that glorified spa out in Malibu, but he was still here… picking up all the pieces you left behind."

I wince at that, not willing to argue with her about the 'glorified spa' part just yet. "Ouch, Allie… it's not like you weren't there that night, too."

"Shit, I know… I'm sorry. I've just been so lonely without you, and I'm eager for Bella to get her groove back."

" _Lonely?_ What, has Rose jetted off to New York again?"

Alice groans. "That would be preferable to the current state of things. She's fallen completely ass over teakettle for this new guy at school."

I sigh, running my fingertips along the top of my laptop before opening it. It takes me a second to remember my password, and I feel a bit silly once the home screen of my browser opens. A few months without internet…

"Rose is always falling for someone, somewhere. This is particularly heinous, because?"

There's a pause, too long, and it makes my back straighten.

"Alice? What is it?"

"Well…" my friend hedges. "He's an Evanson."

I load up Facebook, thanking whoever may be listening that my password is already saved. I definitely wouldn't have remembered that one.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" I mumble, eyes widening as I take in my alerts… _175 notifications, 119 new messages._

Alice gasps. "Bella Swan, have all those drugs fried your brain _completely_?"

I wince, biting the skin off my bottom lip. "Evidently…"

"Technically, he's a Cullen - but his mother is an Evanson. The Evansons? Come _on_ , B."

A memory tickles somewhere deep inside my consciousness, faded and fuzzed with time and bad decisions. Two boys, blue and green, dirty hands and knees from playing in the back garden. Cherry lollipops and strawberry shortcakes from the ice cream man. Charles Swan, seething down at a little girl with pigtails and a pinafore dress - me.

"Did we… have we met them before?"

"Bingo, B! We spent a few summers with them way back when. Remember Carmel?"

Carmel-by-the-Sea. Different from the typical summers spent in California. A memory surfaces, slowly but surely…

'' _Caramel by the sea?!' That's silly, daddy!' I giggled, chewing on a piece of strawberry bubblegum._

' _No, bug - Carmel. We're staying at your granddaddy's cabin this time.'_

Hot, dry Californian days cut with the salt-sweet sea air spent exploring the fairytale town, Alice on one hand and Rose on the other. Stepping into a tiny little bookstore with a curved archway. Me, stumbling over a pretty lady's shiny high-heeled foot. She turned, smiled, accepted my blushing and stuttered apology. Her two sons, eyes all blue and green, one nearly a foot taller than the other. Green bought me an ice cream cone, sat me down atop a table, told me he liked my pigtails.

The three of us met the pretty lady and her two sons there every chance we got for the remainder of our vacation, facilitated by our fathers being much too busy smoking cigars and drinking scotch to notice. That summer turned into two, and we moved from exploring just the town, to the beach as well - bonfires and barbecues, when the pretty lady and her husband would stay for the day.

Green was older, and as the second summer stretched he wouldn't always show up. Sometimes we'd find him down the street, at the little music shop, strumming a guitar or plucking something sweet and simple on a piano. Blue told me it was really because he had a ' _girly-friend_ ', and I didn't believe him at first (' _he's only fourteen! No one has girlfriends at fourteen!_ ') until we all skipped down to the beach one day and caught them kissing in an old lifeguard's tower.

Or rather, until _I_ caught them.

Blue threatened to throw one of us in the water, and I hadn't wanted to get my new cream corduroy pinafore dress and tee shirt wet and dirty, or muss up the two perfect braids Alice had done for me and tied with precious little bows. So, I'd ran up the short ramp and burst into the lifeguard tower, laughing and squealing.

I remember now, moments coming back in flashes, how he'd pushed the girl away, all her tanned skin and salt-water waved blonde, as soon as he saw me. I remember now how he'd said, " _how's it going, sunshine girl?"_ with a hand tugging on the ends of his hair. I remember how she'd glared at me and told me to, " _get out, you stupid brat!"_ How he'd narrowed his eyes at her, got up and walked straight over to me, grabbing the ends of both my braids and tugging a bit.

"Cute handlebars. Let's go, I'll buy you an ice cream."

Summer stretched on. Green was getting bigger, his arms and legs longer, lankier. I'd called him 'Daddy Long-Legs' one day and he'd thrown his head back and laughed. I'd thought about how pretty his teeth were, watching him as I lapped up the millionth strawberry ice cream cone he'd bought me.

Until Daddy burst in, found us at the ice cream parlor and yelled at the pretty lady. I'd tugged on his sleeve, told him to stop. He'd shouted at me, pulled Alice and Rose and I away so hard my ice cream cone fell to the hot ground outside.

" _Stay away from our children, Esme Evanson!_ " he'd barked.

The last thing I'd seen, as I looked over my shoulder, was furious green.

 _The Evansons…_

Recognition dawns. I gasp, and Alice makes a little sound that really says, ' _about damn time'._

Swans, Hales, Evansons; a botanist, a lawyer, a doctor. Great-grandfathers coming together, a business being born. Fuzzy specifics, but somewhere between the Great Depression and World War II, something goes bust. The Evansons are ousted, the Brandons are brought in, and the rest is history. Family history, to be exact, none of which I've ever paid much mind to.

"That lady, and those boys… They were Evansons. That's why Charlie flipped out that day."

"Right again, babes."

"So… some kind of decades-old grudge between our great-grandfathers means Rosalie can't bone the new boy?"

When Alice speaks again, her voice pitches an octave higher, making me snort - a tell-tale sign that my friend is more than a little exasperated.

"Really, Bella - _do_ pay more attention!"

"I'm sorry! This is just sounding very Montagues and Capulets to me, and we all know how that one ended."

Alice snorts. "Romeo and Juliet, these two are not. More like Sid and Nancy."

I wince, chewing on my bottom lip.

"Is he…"

"No, he's not into anything heavy. I've seen him smoke weed once or twice, but other than that he's clean. He's the new quarterback for the varsity team."

I laugh at that, incredulous. " _Rosalie Hale_ is dating a football player? What alternate universe have I stepped into?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it dating, but I _know_ … it's so unlike her. I mean, he's cute and all - look him up on Facebook, if you can. His name is Emmett Cullen."

In just a few seconds, I have his profile up. His picture is of him smiling, dressed in an unfamiliar football uniform and pretending to take a bite out of his helmet. Dark, short-cropped hair, dimples, gigantic biceps… and bright blue eyes.

The blue to 'Blue and Green'.

He has a lot more on his public profile than I'd expected… previous school, DePaul College Prep in Chicago, Illinois. Current school, Beverly Hills Preparatory. Under relationships his status is single, and he has one brother listed - Edward Cullen.

"Weird names, huh?" I say absently, my mouse hovering over his brother's name but not clicking. "How come I didn't remember their names, from before?"

"I don't actually think they ever told us."

"Huh. So, what's Green's deal?"

Alice snorts.

"' _Green'?_ He's older, but we already knew that. Some kind of uber-talented musician. He didn't move with the rest of the fam, but he's out here now. No one's seen him yet, except for Jasper…" Alice sniffs, feigning disinterest.

So, Jasper was _still_ a sore subject, then. Just before I left, Jazz rejected Alice in a most spectacular fashion and left her completely heartbroken. What my best friend hadn't known was he'd done that not because he didn't like Alice - quite the contrary - but because he believed himself to be too old for her. I tried to tell him three years made little difference in the grand scheme of things, but Jasper wasn't having it as long as Alice was still in high school.

"What? Jazz has met him, but not Rose?"

"Yeah, apparently he was at one of the gigs Jasper was doing a couple weeks back and they hit it off. They didn't realize until much later that according to family lore, they should hate each other. Or, at least that's what I've heard from Rose. Lord knows Jazz won't say a _word_ to me…"

I sigh, moving to click on this mysterious brother's profile when there's a knock at my bedroom door. I shut my laptop - habit - and turn, clutching the phone to my ear.

Charles Swan stands in the doorway, that uncertain look still on his face.

"I see you've found your new phone?" he says, nodding toward the object in question, still against my ear.

I clear my throat, nod.

"B? What's up?" Alice asks, her voice up an octave again.

"I, uh… I've got to go, Allie. I'll call you later?"

"Of course! Hey, I meant to ask… no pressure, but are you going to be at school on Monday?"

I worry on my lip for a moment at that, conscious of my father watching my every move.

"I think so, yeah. I'll fill you in as soon as I know for sure."

"Sure thing, B. Talk to you soon - love-love you!"

I smile at that - some things never change, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Love-love you, too. Bye."

The phone is clutched in both my hands, sitting in my lap, and I dare not move my eyes from it for a second. My Dad clears his throat - I keep my gaze down.

"Breakfast will be on the table in five minutes. We have a few things to discuss."

* * *

Our housekeeper, Clara, is a wonderful cook. She was the first person to teach me how to make flan, to tell me I should soften my lasagna noodles in water first before layering them. Just because I didn't necessarily _like_ to always eat, it didn't mean I hadn't liked to cook for others - and I had, very much so.

But, looking down into my bowl of fruit, I can't help but long for Sue - almost painfully so.

My bowl is filled with honeydew, cantaloupe and pineapple. Much like Sue used to tell the chefs what to purchase, Clara only buys what my father tells her to.

It's just a shame that _he_ doesn't seem to know I detest both honeydew and cantaloupe, and that pineapple makes my throat ache.

I cut a piece of my blueberry pancake off and dip it into a shiny pool of butter and syrup, popping it into my mouth. I'm uncertain whether this sudden swell of admiration should be directed at Clara or my Dad, however - one of the two of them knew that blueberry pancakes were my weakness.

I certainly know who I'm hoping has remembered. He's currently flipping through a conspicuous maroon folder on the other side of the too-large, too-long mahogany dining room table between us.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, eating another bite, peeking up from between my lashes so as not to be caught looking… watching as he pauses and looks at me, lowering the documents for a brief moment to watch. I take another bite. He smiles.

And then he places the pages on the table and folds his hands atop them. I know this means business, and have to bite my tongue before any remarks about him not treating my life like it's just another board meeting slip out.

"I hope you know things are going to be very different around here, Isabella."

My fork stops mid-air and I lower it to my plate, stopping to take a sip of my tea - decaffeinated, as it has to be - before responding.

"In what way?"

"In _every_ way. I know I speak for the both of us here when I say we don't want a repeat of what happened in July… nor do we want a repeat of what happened all the months prior to that."

I nod, cradling my tea mug in both hands.

"Do you agree?"

 _Ah… so, he wants a verbal acknowledgement - ever the business man._

"Yes, I agree."

He nods, taking a sip of his coffee and looking through the documents once more.

"I'll have these prescriptions filled, but you're only to take the bare minimum with you when you leave this house. The remainder of the time, they will stay with either Clara or I."

I gape at that, my cheeks flaming.

"I was addicted to _coke_ , Dad, not prescription meds."

It's his turn to flush now, albeit more in anger rather than embarrassment.

"You are not to speak of that… _that_ … again, and most certainly not under my roof!" he sputters, smoothing his moustache with his index finger and thumb a few times before sighing and sitting heavily back in his chair. "We can't afford to be taking any more chances with you, Isabella. Not after last time."

I swallow, fighting down the indignance that rushes through me, and nod.

"Yes, sir. Sorry."

He sighs and shakes his head, reaching forward to thumb through the pages.

"Curfew is eleven o'clock, absolutely no later. You are to report any and all after-school or weekend activities to me, school-related or not. You will be allowed your car after your first full week of classes, but only if you attend without any absences or tardy slips. And you are not to stay the night at Alice or Rosalie's houses without my express permission first, and only _after_ speaking to their parents."

My hands clench into small little fists under the table, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my palms. These rules… hurt. They hurt not only my pride and independence, but my confidence. This many rules could only mean that even after all this time, my dad doesn't truly trust me… right?

 _No, Bella… they mean he cares. Don't go getting all self-righteous and indignant now, this is exactly what you deserve - and worse._

"And are you going to be around to enforce all of this?"

The retort is out before I can stop it - and I certainly wish I had. My dad's face flushes once more, and his brows raise almost up into his hairline.

"I think you'll find it best not to test me right now, Isabella. Not after what you've put me through - what you've put this _family_ through."

Charles pushes back from the table, closes the folder and gets up, his chair scraping against the hardwood floors.

"Nothing we haven't dealt with before, sir."

He pauses, regarding me cautiously over the table, and turns without saying a word. It's not until I speak again that he halts right in his tracks.

"Thank you for the pancakes, sir. Blueberry is still my favourite… I'm glad you remembered."

Five, ten, fifteen seconds go by as I watch my father hesitate in the doorway... and then watch the back of his expensive, perfectly pressed suit jacket as he walks away.

* * *

 **i just couldn't help myself. i hope you enjoyed - please let me know what you thought, and if you'd like to follow me on twitter, i'm bellaofthebarre there as well. until next time. xx - b**


	3. untitled

_I will surprise you sometime, I'll come around,  
When you're down...  
_

 _'Untitled' - Interpol_

* * *

 _Monday, September 10th, 2016_

 _Dearest Diary,_

 _I'm going back to school today. It already feels like a mistake. I feel like I'm playing a part, like my clothes are a costume and I'm stumbling around wearing shoes a size too big. I'm all flushed cheeks and a twisting, tumbling stomach and I can't stand it._

 _Wish me luck on my trip to the Underworld._

* * *

If I'd taken any longer to think about my current state of dress, I'm sure I'd have turned back around and gone straight home to change.

As it was, I looked down upon myself after stepping out from the sleek, huge, massively conspicuous and completely gratuitous black SUV I'd been driven to school in and wrinkled my nose.

The too-tight skinny jeans had been an Alice-influenced purchase, but were the first ones I pulled from my drawer and would have to suffice. Paired with a plain white button-down beneath a dove grey sweater I didn't remember purchasing... I thought I resembled something akin to a young librarian. I wondered, as I stared in the mirror and tugged on the hem of my top, if it would be as obvious to everyone else that I was trying much too hard. My only small comfort of the morning was throwing my Docs on, like an old friend.

I swing my worn leather messenger bag over a shoulder and say a quick goodbye to Mr. Bailey before turning toward the towering monstrosity before me.

 _Damn… where's Chopin's 'Funeral March' when you need it?_

Beverly Hills Preparatory School looms above like a giant, like a wolf in sheep's clothing - all old brick and classic charm on the outside, its insides teeming with filth and poison. The who's who of Southern California's spawn walking the halls, looking to all the world like the perfect kids of Los Angeles' elite…

 _Little did they know._

Drug addicts and dealers, promiscuity running rampant under the guise of high GPA's. It's not hard to fool someone when they aren't looking hard enough to notice. The children of rock stars, actors and athletes; high-powered businessmen and 'old money'... left completely to their own devices - much to their own detriment.

Class is already in session by the time I trudge, dragging my feet, to the front office. Mrs. Cope, all bottle-dyed red hair and fuchsia lipstick smudges on her teeth, regards me with wide eyes.

"Miss Swan! What a… pleasant surprise," she says, scrambling for the phone. "We weren't expecting you today. I'll just give Mr. Greene a call?"

For all her misgivings, I really don't mind The Cope… she's a hell of a gossip monger, but otherwise quite harmless.

"Sure, take your time," I sigh, fidgeting with the strap of my bag. A chirp sounds from inside and I open the flap, feeling around for my cell.

One new text message… Alice, of course:

 _ **Where are you?! I know you're here…**_

I can't help but let out a little snort at that, because what _doesn't_ Alice know?

 _ **Front office. Trying to get my schedule from The Cope.**_

A minute later, a series of two texts come through in quick succession:

 _ **Eeee! Let me know your locker assignment, I'll meet you there.**_

The next text has me covering my mouth, trying to quell the eruption of giggles that bursts forth because Rosalie is in absolute _fine_ form, apparently:

 _ **You fucking bitch. I have to find out from Alice that not only are you back in town, but you're in school, too? I'm coming for you.**_

The Cope glances up curiously from her phone conversation, and I try in vain to calm the sudden flush of color on my cheeks. After a quick murmur of assent, the woman hangs up and gestures for me to come over.

"Mr. Greene is currently in a meeting. He's sorry he couldn't come out to personally wish you luck on your first day back, but would like me to pass on his sincerest sentiments."

"That's, um… nice of him. Tell him I said… thank you?"

"I have a print-out of your schedule here, along with your locker assignment and combination. Most classes are full but if there's a course not to your liking, you just let me know and I'll see what I can do."

 _Damn… how much did Daddy Dearest donate for this special treatment?_

"Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Cope," I smile, a tight little pursing of my lips, before turning and walking as quickly as legs will allow without breaking into a run.

A cursory glance at the paper to check my locker assignment and a quick text to Alice later, and I'm weaving through the empty halls once more. Everything's… the same, but different in so many ways. Or, perhaps it's me who is different? But no, because the warm, buttery yellow of the sunshine streaming through the doors and windows bounces off lockers and walls and everything seems a little less grimy than all those months prior. Cleaner, brighter somehow. A new coat of paint? I can't be sure.

As I round the corner, turning toward where I know my new locker should be, I run straight into a wall.

Or, it rather feels like a wall, but actually appears to be a human male. A very tall, very broad-shouldered human male with dimples and bright blue eyes.

"Woah, there! Sorry about that, I didn't see where I was going," the boy smiles… though boy seems like a gross understatement. His brow crinkles as he regards me carefully, gigantic hands heavy on my shoulders, steadying. "Hey, aren't you…"

" _Bella!_ "

The high, bright voice reverberates around the hall, vibrating against lockers, much too loud and conspicuous whilst class is in session. I can't find it in myself to care, because Alice and Rosalie are standing just feet away, wide smiles and open arms and I'm running before I've realized I'm moving and launching myself at them.

I'm surrounded, tears hidden in the woven strands of gold and pink that is Rosalie's hair, two sets of arms around me tight, tight, tight. I should probably feel embarrassed, weeping like this, but can't feel anything other than an overwhelming sense of _relief._

Alice sobs into my neck as the scent of Rose's ' _Coco Mademoiselle_ ' wraps around me, familiar and warm.

I pull away, and Rosalie brushes tear-dampened tendrils of hair from wet cheeks, patting away the salty streams with warm, certain fingers. I regard them both, eyes drinking in everything I'd been missing for nearly three months…

Alice's raven-colored hair is slightly longer, her chic Parisian bob now just brushing under her jawline, bangs just hitting the top of her thin, dark and perfectly groomed brows; an inky flick of black liner behind fluttering lashes and those strange, all-seeing violet-hued eyes… like a 1960's French daydream.

And Rosalie, gorgeous Rosalie… long, flaxen locks framing her face, still tinted pink in chunks from where we dyed it last July; bright grey eyes and full, red lips; a blonde Angelina Jolie or an edgy Grace Kelly, Cher Horowitz not afraid to get dirty and with an outrageous IQ. Tall and statuesque, making her tight jeans and tee and large, cheetah-print coat look instantly high-fashion.

"Bella, you look…" Alice breathes, squeezing one of my hands with both of her tiny ones.

"Awful? Haggard? Past my prime?"

Rosalie tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear, shaking her head.

"Don't do that, Bella-babe. You look… wonderful."

A throat clears behind us. The same boy from earlier stands, shifting his feet.

"Sorry to interrupt, but… you _are_ Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

Alice wraps both arms around my waist, tucking her head against my chest and pouting at the boy. Rosalie slings an arm around my shoulder, arching a brow dangerously.

"Don't ask obvious questions, Em. Who else would we be blubbering over?"

"You're Emmett Cullen, right?"

The question is out before I can stop it, and I know for certain now that there's truly no filter left between my brain and my mouth.

Emmett smiles, his dimples making another striking appearance, and strides forward.

"Ah, I see my reputation precedes me, as well."

"' _As well_ '?" I ask, wrinkling my nose a bit. I can see where this is going, and it's not good.

"You're quite the legend around here, Miss Isabella."

I can only nod, swallowing uncomfortably. Alice's grip tightens.

"Just Bella, please."

I don't ask about what being ' _a legend_ ' in these halls means. I already know.

"Sure thing, Just Bella," he grins and when I smile back, it's a little less heavy.

"What are you doing out here, Cullen?" Rose asks, her eyes hungrily trailing over his tight sweater and well-fitted jeans.

 _Uh oh… Rosalie's on the prowl._

Emmett holds his hands up, a sheepish grin on his face. "I just got here."

Rose rolls her eyes and glances at a clock on the opposite wall.

"You're late."

He grimaces, scratching his head. "Yeah, don't remind me."

I stare at him for a moment, trying to reconcile the kid I'd known him as before this with the man before me now. Little Boy Blue is there, in his eyes, of course… but he's also in his dimples, in the little dip in his chin.

"Class is almost out, kiddos," Rosalie drawls, looking back at me. "B, are you ready for this?"

 _No, not at all._

"Yes."

Alice lifts her head, eyeing me.

"Are you _sure?_ " she asks, tone wary.

 _No. I'm absolutely terrified._

"Yes, I'm sure."

Alice purses her lips.

 _Shit, she's definitely not fooled._

The bell rings, shrill and loud, making me jump. Emmett swears under his breath, backing away.

"I've gotta run… but hey, are we still on for tonight?" he calls over the rapidly filling hallway.

Rosalie looks sideways at me cautiously, quickly, but not quick enough for it to go unnoticed.

"I'll let you know!" she responds, turning back with a too-wide smile. My eyes narrow.

"What's tonight?" I ask, though I can probably guess.

 _A party. Drinking, drugging, debauchery._

"It's nothing, just… a little get-together."

I open my mouth to respond when I hear the first murmurings of tension, the first whisper of my name as someone passes by.

' _Bella… crazy… party.'_

' _Rehab… coke … Riley Byers?'_

And there it is. It was just a matter of time, really. I've been preparing to hear his name again for weeks.

It still hits me like a semi-truck.

The effect is instantaneous.

" _Shit_ … Alice, grab her schedule. Find her next class," Rosalie hisses, as Alice dutifully grabs the now-crumpled piece of paper from my shaking fist. They begin to move us, one unit, pushing through the dense crowd.

The _very_ dense crowd… every set of eyes on us, beady and watching and assessing, their gazes repressive, pushing on my chest as an unrelenting weight. And I'm shivering and squeezing my eyes shut, looking down, thinking as loudly as possible to drown out their whispers.

The cold back of a hard, plastic chair settles against my shoulders. I open tightly-clenched eyes to the oddly welcome sight of a classroom. Alice sits cross-legged on the Formica tiles in front of me, rubbing a soothing pattern along the backs of my knuckles as Rosalie shuts the door, leaning against it heavily.

Mr. Filcher sits at his desk at the front of the classroom, a celery stick poised halfway to his open mouth - an incredulous gape.

"Afternoon, Filch… you remember Miss Swan, don't you?" Rosalie says, her smile scary-wide.

The man fumbles around for a moment, throwing his snack on the desk and standing, wiping hands on his slacks.

"Yes, yes, of course! AP English, last year. I'm assuming you're here for the same?" he asks, walking around to lean against the front of his desk.

Silence. Stifling, oppressive silence.

Christ, I can't speak. I only open and close my mouth, panic coursing through me and _choking, choking._

Alice scrambles up, standing behind me and placing both hands on my shoulders.

"Yes, Mr. Filcher! Bella's in this class, of course, because she's brilliant. Don't let the silence deter you."

I lean forward, grabbing my discarded messenger bag from the ground and rifling through it. I pretend not to notice them watching, and they pretend not to be looking at all.

I find the small pill bottle easily, opening it and shaking out one of the four little green pills into my palm, placing it under my tongue with shaky hands. My eyes close and I lean back, letting the feeling of Alice's hands on my shoulders ground me.

Small talk is passed back and forth whilst I wait for it to kick in. It's not until a frustrated knock pounds against the door that I feel stable enough to open my eyes. When I do, I wish I'd kept them closed.

Mr. Filcher looks at me with that 'observing a wild animal' stare; Rosalie hovers, uncertain; Alice looks down with her lower lip jutted out, tears welling in her eyes but not spilling.

And, as if the universe is playing some kind of sick, elaborate joke… Mike Newton walks through the door, football jersey on, Jessica Stanley tucked beneath his arm. When he lays eyes on me, his entire demeanor changes - he steps back from Jessica, retracting his arm, and gulps as his entire face turns the color of an over-ripe tomato.

"B-Bella! What… what the hell are you doing here?" he says, laughing nervously and striding over in two quick steps. He leans down and before I can turn away, he's planting a wet kiss to my cheek, smelling of shaving cream and something abrasive… _'Axe'_?

 _Probably._

I clear my throat before speaking. "I could ask you the same thing, Mike… AP English? How'd you swing that one?"

Alice covers her mouth, stifling a giggle, although Rosalie lets out a loud howl without shame.

My face flushes, eyes wide as I realize just how condescending that sounds.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for that to sound so… so… " I stutter, wringing my hands.

"No, it's fine," Mike smiles, scratching the side of his neck. "I just… the parents wanted me to, you know? They threatened to take away the Benz if I couldn't hack it."

Ah… now, that makes _much_ more sense. Mike's Mercedes is undoubtedly the love of his life, much to Jessica Stanley's chagrin.

 _Blegh._

"Bella!" Jessica says, stepping forward - though it ends up sounding like more of a whine. Though, nearly everything out of her mouth typically is. "It's _so_ good to see you!"

She air-kisses both of my cheeks, her long, talon-shaped nails digging into my arm as she leans forward.

"You as well, Jess. Have a good summer?" I ask, hoping the tone is polite enough because there's panic right at the edge of my consciousness and it's taking nearly all of me to keep it at bay.

"Very. Didn't we, Michael?" she retorts, looping her arm through Mike's and staring at him, lips pursed into a thin line.

"Uh… yeah, of course?" he says, and it's more of a question than anything.

"Are you in AP English, too, Jess?" Alice chirps, running her fingers through the ends of my hair.

Jessica's eyes narrow and the corners of her lips lift, her face looking a lot like she's just eaten something entirely unsavory.

"No, Alice, I'm not. I have Spanish with Mr. Banner this period. You know that."

"Right. So, why the hell are you _here_?" Alice claps back, and it's quick and biting and has me looking down, fidgeting with my fingers to hide my smile.

Jessica's mouth opens and closes once, twice, three times before she swings around, planting a wet-sounding kiss directly on Mike's mouth before strutting out the door.

"That was…" Alice starts.

"Highly disturbing," Rose nods.

Students continue to file in, rushing as the warning bell sounds out.

"You guys should get to class, I don't want you to be late," I sigh, sinking further down into the seat.

"We're already in class, sweet-cheeks," Rosalie beams, throwing her purse atop the desk beside mine and perching in her own chair, making the hard blue plastic look like a designer piece of furniture via proximity.

Alice settles in the desk to my left, dutifully opening a notebook and throwing me a wink. Mike departs with a half-wave, sulking to a seat in the back of the class as Mr. Filcher clears his throat and approaches the chalkboard.

I take deep breaths, willing the meds coursing through me to get me through _at least_ this one class.

* * *

Lunch is an indescribably tense affair.

I settle in at the usual table, sandwiched between Alice and Rosalie, with almost too much ease. It's an uncomfortable feeling, like I'm slipping back into the old me - especially as one by one, people approach and greet me like I haven't been checked into a rehab center for three months.

Tyler Crowley flicks the tabletop and tells me it's good to see me back, staring straight at my chest. Ben Cheney says he doesn't recognize me without my heart-shaped sunglasses. The general consensus is that no one _really_ thinks I've changed.

I stay silent, and smile, and hope to God I can prove them all wrong.

Emmett joins us, throwing himself heavily down on the bench seat beside Rose, shaking the entire table with his momentum. Mike and Jessica linger at the other side, along with most of the varsity football team.

I pick at the veggie platter before me, nibbling on a few pieces of cucumber, some baby carrots, a couple slices of red pepper… and it feels as if the whole damn table nearly stops when I reach out to grab a french fry from Alice's plate.

That's when the first tense moment of the hour occurs.

"Jesus, I never thought I'd see the day…"

The icy voice comes from just over my shoulder, and I tense but don't turn - I'd know it anywhere.

Lauren Mallory rounds the table, her box-dyed blonde hair pulled up into a too-tight, too-high ponytail. Her painted pink lips stretch over a brand new set of veneers, curling into a venomous sneer.

"What the fuck do you mean by that, Lauren?" Rosalie hisses, her back straightening. I place a hand discreetly on her arm, under the table.

Lauren laughs, and it's loud and false and crass.

"Oh, nothing. Just that I always thought it more likely pigs would fly before I'd see little Isabella Swan eat anything other than air."

I clench my jaw, desperately biting my tongue against a sharp remark.

"Lauren," Mike calls, his gaze wary. "Back off."

The girl scoffs, her top lip curling. "Excuse me? Go to hell, Newton."

"Just… knock it off, Lor," he sighs, grimacing.

"Yeah, _Lor_ … if you know what's good for you, you'll knock it right the fuck off. Pronto," Rose growls, eyes narrowed and voice absolutely lethal.

Lauren rolls her eyes, teetering on her platform heels as she wobbles over to the other side of the table.

I push my tray away, stomach rolling too much to continue. Alice regards me warily, pushing her plate of french fries forward. I take one, playing with it rather than eating it, as a pretense.

"So… about tonight. What do you say, Rosie?" Emmett booms, clapping his hands together.

I turn to Alice, eyes wide, and mouth, ' _Rosie?_ '

Alice's only answer is a giggle and a shake of her head.

Rose swears under her breath, and herein lies the second tense moment of the hour.

"Emmett Cullen, do you ever read your damn texts?" she sighs.

He furrows his brows, pulling his phone out, swiping a few times and beginning to read aloud.

" _Don't talk about the gig in front of_ \- ow! What the hell, Rosie?" he cries, rubbing his arm where her fist made contact.

 _Ah… commence everyone treating Bella with kid gloves._

"Guys, I'm not - just because I went to rehab, it doesn't mean I'm made of glass. You _can_ tell me things."

And there it is. We haven't actually said the word 'rehab' to each other since right after I was admitted, and that was after nearly three weeks of not being able to talk to each other at all. Alice had been, by all accounts, supportive about the whole thing. Considering the events that transpired to get me there in the first place, I know it made her look at herself and the way she'd been living her life in a very different way. Rosalie, however…

Now, that was a tougher shell to crack.

Rosalie saw rehab as a glorified spa, a place where celebrities went to get massages and eat salads and talk about their feelings. She'd been half right… there were massages, salads, and feelings-talk. But it was so much more than that. I had a hard time figuring out if it was genuinely Rose thinking rehab didn't work, or just because she enjoyed her drugs too much to give them up.

The jury was still out on that one. I wasn't sure what, exactly, Rose had been up to for the rest of the summer… or if she'd been up to anything at all. Judging by how rampant her use had been just prior to me leaving, it wasn't too hard to guess.

"We know, Belly. We're just… worried. You've only been back in town for a day, and from what we've heard it can take even less than that to…" Alice sighs, hedging.

"What? To jump back on the wagon?" I grumble, ripping a piece of celery from my now wholly unappetizing lunch to shreds.

"We know you can't be around any of that again, Bella, not if you don't want to be… and we can't be sure it won't be there at anything we go to. You know how it is," Rose adds, stopping my ministrations with a hand atop mine.

My shoulders tense, blood running like ice.

"' _Not if I don't want to be_ '… what does _that_ mean?"

"Rosalie," Alice snaps, eyes wide. "I thought we agreed not to talk about this."

"No, _you_ agreed, Allie. I just want Bella to be happy, and the only person who can decide that is her. If she ever needs a little something to take the edge off, she knows I've got her covered."

Emmett shifts on his end of the bench, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you're talking about what I think you're talking about…"

I close my eyes, clenching hands into fists, nails digging into the skin of my palms and I know without a doubt this time… I've drawn blood. My nose itches, so fucking badly, but I refuse to scratch it… I can feel it, almost like a phantom, in my nostrils; dripping down the back of my throat; acrid like paint thinner.

"Rosalie," I breathe, voice shaky and strained. "If you're saying what I think you're saying… I can't be around you."

"What? What the fuck does that mean?" Rose snaps. "Bella? Look at me, what does that mean?"

 _Breathe in to the count of four… hold it… breathe out to the count of four. Stop shaking, Bella, for fuck's sake. You know what you have to say, just_ say _it!_

"I can't associate with anyone who enables my previous behavior. It's in my treatment plan."

The words come out flat, monotone, like I'm reading from a script. And I suppose I am. I can see the words now, plain as day, on the outpatient pamphlet Sue made me take when I left.

"Fuck your treatment plan, Bella! You know that's all bullshit anyway. I'm not trying to push anything on you, for God's sake, I just want you to know you have _options!_ "

I whirl around, eyes wide and face flushed, and Rosalie's back straightens.

"Stop it! You can't say things like that to me, Rose. I can't… I _can't_ ," I choke, shaking my head so quickly my hair splays out around me.

Rosalie swears under her breath, taking both of my shaking hands in her own and pulling me forward, rubbing my back.

"Damn it. I'm sorry, B. I didn't… I didn't know you were taking this so seriously. I didn't mean to be such a bitch about it, I just thought - "

"It's okay," I croak, pulling back and rubbing under my eyes roughly with the sleeves of my sweater. I don't want to _cry_ anymore, damn it. I feel like enough of a basket-case as it is. "I know you meant well. I just…"

"I get it. Really, I do. I'm sorry," she sighs and though it sounds sincere, I'm not actually sure she _does_ get it. But I ignore that, because what's my other option? Cutting her out of my life?

 _Yeah, not likely._

"I know I'm a mess right now, but despite that… just, please don't treat me like I'm so fragile. Don't keep things from me? I've been disconnected from both of you for almost three months. I just don't want to feel like even _more_ of an outsider."

Alice rests her head on my shoulder, sighing heavily, and both she and Rosalie nod.

"So, Emmett… now that you've seen my second breakdown of the day, what do you think? Is the infamous Isabella Swan everything you thought she'd be?" I try to joke, wanting to lighten the mood, giving little half-hearted jazz hands.

Emmett laughs, eyes warm and friendly, not a trace of sympathy or pity in his bright blues.

I decide I really like Emmett Cullen - nearly ancient family rivalries be damned.

"She's even more than I remember."

The rest of lunch goes by without any more major faults. I find out that 'the gig' is actually a small show Emmett's older brother Edward and Jasper are playing in at an Irish pub down in Newport Beach. The owners are friends of the Cullen family, and are perfectly fine with letting Emmett and ' _a few of his friends_ ' into the licensed establishment for the night.

I insist on going, much to Alice and Rosalie's surprise. They assure me that I don't have to if I don't want to, and that they'll even ditch Emmett - much to his chagrin - and spend the night watching chick flicks at my house if I'd prefer.

I appreciate the gesture more than they know, but three months ago this would have been so easy. I'd be there, no doubt about it. This careful side-stepping and hidden planning doesn't sit well with me, and this is my first real chance at… normalcy.

I make sure to send Charlie a text informing him of my plans for after school - go back home, get changed and be ready by five o'clock for the hour-long drive down to Newport.

My next class is awkward, but I manage to push through it with Alice by my side. Mademoiselle Goff calls on me once during French, mistaking me for a new student to the school, but doesn't bother again once she realizes - with wide eyes - who I am.

The last class of the day makes me choke as I read it out on my timetable.

' _Drama, Mr. Volta - Monroe Theatre'_

I whirl into the 'classroom' - really, the stage of the school's attached theater - with my face already flushed, clutching the schedule in shaky hands. I stalk up to the tall teacher with the horn-rimmed glasses, bald head and graying soul patch/mustache combo and thrust the paper toward him. The man is familiar - last year, he'd substituted my French class for nearly half a semester whilst Goff was on maternity leave. He'd insisted everyone call him by his first name, either Mr. Marcus or Mr. M.

I, in my teenage rebellion, had done neither.

He looks down, looks up at me, and then down once again before plucking the paper out of my grip.

"Miss Swan, delighted for you to join us," he mumbles, pulling a pen from his pocket and initialing beside the class name.

"This must be a mistake, Mr. V. I didn't choose Drama as an elective last year during course selection. It wasn't even an alternate!" I sputter.

"Well, I don't know much about that. I do know that currently, Drama is the only elective with a free space… though, with the addition of you, I suppose we're full!" he laughs, clapping his hands as if he's just told the joke of the century.

I shake my head. "No, I'm sorry. I… I can't act."

Mr. Volta straightens, sighs, and levels me with an almost withering look.

"Listen, sweetheart… this class is full of either the over-achieving kids of actors, or kids who _wish_ they were the children of actors.. None of them can _really act_ ," he sighs, and then purses his lips for a moment before responding. "If anything you do in here is even half as convincing as some of the excuses you got away with last year, we'll be giving you a bloody Oscar by the end of the semester."

Class had commenced and continued without me getting another word in edgewise, and I spend it sitting in one of the red velvet seats of the theater and watching as class proceeds, planning exactly what I'm going to say to The Cope to get the situation sorted. Groups of students alternate on the stage, acting out various improv scenarios, until twenty minutes before class ends in which Mr. Volta declares free time and I declare it time to get the hell out of there.

Mrs. Cope is typing away at her computer behind the main office desk when I come in, and her eyes widen at my approach.

I wonder when she'll stop looking at me like I'm a liability.

"Miss Swan! I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

"Drama. I need it taken off my schedule… please."

Mrs. Cope clears her throat, adjusting her glasses before nodding and turning to click through her computer a few times.

My stomach drops as the corners of the woman's lips turn downward.

"I'm sorry, Miss Swan, but there doesn't appear to be any other open electives for that period."

"What about switching my classes around a bit? There's got to be Biology during that block, right? I could switch my morning Bio with that one…"

She shakes her head, long red fingernails tapping against the table top.

"Hmm… no, that wouldn't work. I'm so sorry, it doesn't look like there's anything I'm able to do."

I breathe steadily through my nose and out of my mouth once, twice, three times before plastering a smile on my face.

"That's alright, Mrs. Cope. Thank you for trying, anyway."

Without another moment to spare, I whirl and head out through the office doors, whipping through the halls and into the dry warmth of mid-September California. I shoot a text to Mr. Bailey and then another to Alice and Rose to tell them I'm already on the way home, and not to wait up.

I notice, with a small amount of disdain and absolutely no surprise, that my father still hasn't replied to my message from earlier.

I linger on the front steps of the school for no longer than five minutes before the tell-tale black SUV pulls up to the curb, and don't wait for Mr. Bailey to exit before I've hopped up and thrown myself into the back seat. He looks at me curiously through the rear view mirror.

"Rough day?" he asks, pulling away from the school slowly.

I sigh, fiddling with the strap of my messenger bag and flinching as the end-of-day school bell rings out behind us.

"That's a bit of an understatement."

* * *

Muldoon's Irish Pub is a charming, two-story brick building wrapped in ivy on the corner of Newport Center and Anacapa Drive. Although only a short ten minute drive from the beach, it almost feels like another world away - two doors around the side of the building take you down a short staircase to an open courtyard, a large oak tree in the middle, potted plants dotted around with wrought iron tables and chairs evenly spaced throughout. String lights hang from under the banisters of the upper level balcony, accessible by a small set of stairs just to the right.

In the fading sun of a warm autumn evening, the warmth of the lights bounces off brick and bathes the entire area in a soft, welcoming glow.

I fiddle with my fingers, wrapping the digits of my right hand around left and then switching, over and over again, shifting uncertain in a simple black sleeveless wool dress with a velvet collar.

" _Good evening, page three of the Brooks Brothers catalog,"_ Alice had chirped with a raised brow from the front seat of Rosalie's sleek, cherry red BMW, scanning my outfit as I ducked into the back. " _I suppose it was too much to assume you'd switch out the Docs for the night?"_

Indeed, it had been - my well-worn, much loved black Dr. Martens were something of a legend in our group. ' _A staple in the Bella Swan look-book,'_ Rosalie had once stated.

Alice links her arm through mine and then Rosalie's who leads the way, weaving us between tables. Up ahead, I can just make out Emmett's head above a small gathered crowd near a double set of French doors leading into the main bar of the pub.

We push through, and I note very quickly the overwhelming presence of females - giggling, tossing their hair, sipping brightly colored drinks in frilly little cups. Two in particular stand out.

"What the fuck?" Rosalie hisses, pausing only briefly before pulling our little train along with a sharp tug.

Lauren and Jessica are perched atop two chairs, sipping on fluorescent pink drinks in martini glasses with little umbrellas and giggling almost maniacally at someone who, even from the back, is undoubtedly Jasper. I hazard a glance at Alice, whose delicate features are puckered and pulled into a visage of disdain - it's a little disconcerting, like those marble statues of weeping angels.

"Evening, whores. Mind if we interrupt your little pow-wow?" Rosalie snaps, her hand landing heavily on Jasper's shoulder. He turns, a smile still on his face but his brows raised up nearly into his hairline. His collarbone-length, wavy blonde locks are loose tonight, and the hand not currently wrapped around a whiskey on the rocks reaches up to tuck a stray strand behind his ear.

He opens his mouth, looks at Alice, and immediately falters. His eyes widen, mouth opening and closing, resembling something decidedly aquatic as he gapes at her.

"Good evening, Jasper. How do you do?" Alice trills, her face completely devoid of any emotion as she regards him coolly. I nearly shiver from the icy-cold of her demeanor.

"I… _what_ … are you doing here?" he finally gets out, shaking his head - but the gaping is immediately back at the sight of me standing beside Alice. "Bella! What the fuck are _you_ doing here? In a _pub_?"

"Hello to you, too, brother dearest," Rosalie sighs, rolling her eyes. "We're here together."

Jasper narrows his eyes at Rosalie before stepping forward and wrapping a hand around the top of my arm. He leans down, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Does your father know you're here?"

I flush, aware of the many sets of eyes currently on me, embarrassed at the mention of Charlie.

"Yes, he does."

"And he's okay with it?" Jasper says, a bit louder this time with his incredulity, eyes shifting to Alice every other moment.

"Yes."

"You're lying," he says with a sigh, closing his eyes briefly. "I can't believe Rose thought this would be a good idea. Come on, I'm taking you home."

He pulls at my arm, depositing his drink on the table behind him and turning to make for the doors.

I plant my feet to the ground - nearly digging my heels into the concrete below us.

"No."

Jasper turns, his brows arching in a look that is so typically Hale - Rose sports the exact same when she's nearly reached her limit - and scoffs.

" _No_? Bella, with all due respect… you really have no clout in the matter here. I really don't believe you'd be standing here if Charles Swan knew where you were, and I'm not about to let you - "

" _Let me_?" I gape, as Alice and Rosalie tug on my other arm. I push aside the feeling of being the worn-out rope in a game of 'Tug o' War' and lower my voice. " _With all due respect_ , Jasper… you're not my father, nor are you my doctor. I have told my father where I am, he just hasn't given enough of a shit to acknowledge me. Nothing new."

Jasper tugs on my arm again; Alice and Rose tug back.

"You know this isn't right, Bella. This isn't a safe space for you," he hisses, glancing over my shoulder. I do the same, noticing Jessica, Lauren and a few others girls looking our way and clearly straining to listen.

"For God's sake, Jazz - I'm not a child!" I snap, finally fed up, and wrench my arms from both grasps. I step away, turning back on my heels and pointing to the pair of blonde crows still sitting on their perches. "And just for the record, those two _go to our school_ \- don't let the makeup and fake tits fool you. I know how much age is an issue for you."

And with that, I spin once more and make for the inside of the bar, feeling curious gazes following as I stomp away. I'm so busy looking down at my feet, I run straight into a body as it leans against the doorway of one of the open green French double doors leading inside.

Making impact with a slight ' _oof_ ', the sound of ice clinking around in a glass and a small, breathy laugh hit my ears as a hand reaches out to my shoulder to steady me.

I pull away quickly, closing my eyes for a moment and sighing as embarrassment floods my cheeks and forces me into a quick getaway.

"Sorry," I mumble, head down, shifting and brushing by again.

A low, throaty laugh reaches my ears, warming me from the inside out.

"It's no problem at all."

 _Jesus Christ…_

His voice. His fucking _voice._

It has me stopping in my tracks, whirling around to look… just in time for him to turn and stalk back outside.

What the hell was that _voice?_

If I were a braver person, I'd follow after him - but as it is, I can only watch his tall frame walk away, odd-colored hair glinting dark brown-bronze in the buttery glow of the string lights outside; the muscles of his back flexing beneath a fitted black tee; jeans hanging deliciously off narrow hips; feet clad in…

Well worn-in, well-loved, slightly scuffed Doc Martens.

A raucous cheer from behind makes me jump, knocking me out of the moment. With a deep breath, I resume my quest toward the bar. The man behind it looks up as I approach, his eyebrows raised as he regards me, wiping the inside of a stein with a soft cloth.

I sigh, hopping up onto a stool and leaning my elbows atop the surface, running both hands through my hair.

"I'll just have a Coca-Cola, please. In a bottle if you have it, and a straw."

The man throws his towel over one shoulder, places his cup down and leans on the counter top with both hands.

"ID, please?" he asks, a smirk on his lips, his voice a trilling Northern Irish accent.

"What? I'm not even ordering any alcohol. What do you need ID for?" I stutter.

"'Yer on a licensed premises, dearie. I'm go'na need to see some ID."

"She's with me, Liam."

I turn just as a heavy arm settles around my shoulders, and look up into the smiling face of Emmett, his dimples large and in charge on his cheeks as he winks at me.

The man - Liam - regards me curiously before looking at Emmett, narrowing his eyes and giving a curt nod.

My shoulders sag a bit, the tension leaving me. I reach for my bag to pay.

"Crap! My wallet… it's in Rose's car. I'll just go - "

"Don't worry about it," Emmett grins, nodding at Liam as he places the glass bottle - straw and all - atop a napkin on the bar top. "Add it to my tab?"

"Sure thing," Liam smiles, giving a little salute and turning to one of the other patrons.

"I'll give it back to you," I sigh, relieved.

Emmett takes a swig of his drink - I peer at the label curiously, and recognize it with mirth as an O'Doul's alcohol-free beer - and shakes his head vehemently.

"Don't say another word. It's on me, Little B," he smiles, and it's large and contagious and I'm picking up my drink and smiling back at him before I know it, chewing on the straw a bit.

"Thank you, Emmett. Really."

"Don't mention it," he shrugs, pulling me a little closer into his side - he's so tall and broad that even sitting atop a stool, my head only comes to his shoulder. I'm actually pleasantly surprised I'm not massively uncomfortable with this. Something about him exudes ease and comfort.

We make small-talk for a few minutes, Emmett explaining how his father's family has been friends with Liam's for years; that they've turned a blind eye for the night to having minors on the premises, but they're not serving them any alcohol. I ask if this happens often.

"It's usually only Edward and I, and maybe a couple of buddies. But yeah, often enough," he smirks, taking another swig of his 'beer.'

The unmistakable sound of a guitar being tuned sounds from outside, and I glance back to the courtyard.

"Are they on already?"

"Who, my brother and Jasper? Nah, not yet. There's one opening band before them."

"Ah, I see… so, what does your brother play?"

Emmett scoffs, taking another pull from his drink.

"Everything."

My eyebrows rise. "Everything?"

" _Everything._ Name it, he's probably mastered it. Or, if he hasn't he's probably found it too boring and moved on to the next thing."

"Interesting… so, guitar?"

"Mhmm."

"Bass? Drums?"

"Yep, and yep."

"Piano?"

Emmett throws his head back and laughs at this - a big, hearty laugh that confuses but has me smiling along with him.

"Sorry, just… God forbid the person that gets between Edward and his Steinway. Absolutely, yes. He's a fucking prodigy, and that's not even a joke. Google him if you don't believe me."

"He's on Google?" I snort.

"Google, YouTube… I wouldn't be surprised if he has his own Wikipedia, honestly."

"Jesus… and how old is he?" I ask, trying not to feel inadequate for doing nothing much of consequence at sixteen years of age. Alice had said he was older, and I remember him being older, but I'm not entirely certain by how much.

"Twenty-one."

I choke, the fizzy cola nearly coming out of my nose as I cough. Emmett swears, patting me firmly on the back.

"Fuck, are you alright?" he says, mirth evident in his tone. I can only hold up a hand, showcasing my middle finger to him as I bend over and continue to cough. He bursts into loud, raucous chortles.

"What the _hell_ did you do to my best friend, Emmett Cullen?" comes a voice from behind. "Did you make her take a sip of that God-awful O'Doul's?"

Rosalie appears on my other side, helping me sit back up and tucking fly-away strands of hair behind my ears with the kind of maternal care only she can. Her cool hands come to rest on my flaming cheeks, calming them gradually.

"Hey, B - welcome back to Earth," she laughs. "Sorry about that little 'Tug o' Bella' back there. My brother was just being such a colossal ass clown, I wasn't thinking straight."

"Ha! _Ass clown!_ " Emmett howls, his laughter still not subsided from his previous bout, now reaching a near fever-pitch.

I arch a brow and pluck the bottle from his hand as he leans over, hands on his knees. I take a whiff… and immediately whistle.

"Oh, that is certainly _not_ O'Doul's…"

"What?" Rosalie asks, furrowing her brows. She takes the bottle, giving it a sniff. "Oh, for _fuck's_ sake - Emmett! What the hell is in here?"

He straightens, bracing himself with one hand on the bar top as he wipes tears of mirth from his face.

"It's… it's Fireball and Coke!" he giggles - actually _giggles_ \- slapping a hand over his mouth.

Rosalie's brows arch dangerously, and both Emmett and I swallow - hard.

"Oh, shit…" he gulps.

"Indeed. It's the trademark Hale stare-down," I whisper, her steely grey eyes actually sending a chill down my damn spine. The band outside starts up and I clear my throat, turning and patting Emmett's large shoulder. "I think I'll just go check out the tunes. Godspeed, my friend."

And with that, I slink off the bar stool and duck out, grabbing my drink on the way to the courtyard. The evening air hits my skin, cooling my flushed cheeks immediately.

I can just make out the top of Jasper's head over by a few high tables and bar stools, and begin to weave my way through the crowd, bopping to a song I recognize immediately - one of my favorites, a cover of Interpol's 'Untitled'. Through the fray, I can just make out the band as they play on an elevated stage in the corner of the courtyard.

" _Bella!_ "

I swing around, immediately seeking out Alice's voice and finding her perched atop a stool at a high table, ankles crossed primly… and Jasper standing straight and rigid on the other side.

Alice smiles a telling, tight little grin and my feet are moving quickly, quicker still because I know that look.

That look is Alice's ' _please for the love of God, help me_ ' look.

Jasper's shoulders visibly slump as I approach, and I arch a brow at him. He has the decency to look bashful, at least.

Alice reaches out as soon as I'm close enough, pulling me in and placing a big kiss on my cheek. She smells like watermelon and kiwi and sandalwood, and I know it's from the 'Dolce & Gabbana' perfume I've been buying her since we were twelve.

'' _L'Imperatrice'_?' she'd squinted, her French accent perfect from years of watching old black-and-white Francophone films, cradling the baby pink bottle in her hands. ' _What's that mean?_ '

' _Empress,_ ' I'd smiled, pinching her cheek, making her giggle and bump me with a pillow. ' _Because you're the empress of my heart, dearest one!'_

"Where the hell have you been? I thought we'd lost you for a second," she frowns, smoothing my hair.

"I just needed a minute… that, and the bartender was giving me a tough time about not having ID before Emmett came to the rescue," I sigh, turning back toward the stage as Alice wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"Bella," Jasper starts and I look at him evenly, at his eyes and shoulders both down-turned. "I'm really sorry about earlier. I don't necessarily agree with you being here, but I was completely out of line."

He looks up, hopeful. I purse my lips, maintaining eye contact for a moment, and eventually nod.

"These guys are pretty good. Where are they from?" is all I say, and it's all he needs to know that he's forgiven. Jasper and I don't deal in superfluous words or grand displays, and it's one of the things I love so much about him.

"Oregon. Portland, to be exact."

' _Surprise, sometimes, will come around…'_

"Figures. You would love this hipster shit, B," Rosalie grumbles, sidling up beside Jasper and crossing her arms.

"Where's Em? Passed out in the toilets yet?" I say, willing to ignore her jab.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with him?" Alice says, looking back and forth between us. "What have I missed?"

' _I will surprise you sometime, I'll come around...'_

"Nah... his brother came in, saw me ripping him a new one and took over."

"Why were you ripping him a new one? What's going _on?_ " Alice whines, bouncing on her seat a bit. Jasper's eyes widen as he looks at her, trying his absolute damnedest not to stare but failing miserably as he gazes, lovelorn, at her pout.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Rosalie snorts, nodding over her shoulder toward the doors of the bar.

' _Oh, I will surprise you sometime. I'll come around, when you're down...'_

I smirk, standing on tiptoes to peer over at Emmett's hulking form stumbling out into the night air, followed closely by…

Breath catches and my heart _stutters, stutters, stutters_ _stops_ , then takes off into a frenzy so fast I'm certain it's bound to beat right out of me. My hand flies up to rest over my heart, willing it not to burst out of my chest. My stomach clenches, twists, turns, flips…

His wild hair licks upward like a flame, a strange burnished bronze color, reaching toward the sky in an unruly blaze. Pink lips, slightly fuller on the bottom than the top. He stands in the doorway like a myth, like a mystical thing, too much for this world.

The Coca-Cola bottle slips, landing with a crash against the ground.

He is strawberry ice cream melting on cobblestone streets and salty beach hair, warm sand between my toes and tugging on my pigtails. And as if I didn't already know...

He looks up, directly at me, dark brows furrowed over eyes the color of lush moss, polished jade.

Green, so Green.

The color of home.

* * *

 **muldoon's is a real pub in newport beach, though i've taken some small liberties with my description of it. give it a google if you'd like a good visual. (just a disclaimer, i highly doubt they'd ever let minors in. but hey, creative license blah blah blah.) i hope you enjoyed. if you'd like, you can drop me a line on twitter - i'm bellaofthebarre there, too. until next time. xx**


	4. fate

**the cullen family estate is inspired by the heartridge estate in hidden valley, california - which is absolutely beautiful. give it a google for a good visual… and make sure you check out the piano room. 'the six' is inspired by 'the bronze' from ' _buffy the vampire slayer_ ' - though in my mind, it's a bit bigger.**

* * *

 _I could possibly be fading, or have something more to gain,  
_ _I could feel myself growing colder, I could feel myself under your fate…_

' _Into Dust' - Mazzy Star_

* * *

 _Monday, September 30th, 2017_

 _Kismet._

 _Destiny._

 _Fate._

 _Call it what you will - in the end, it all amounts to one thing: a glorious moment wherein everything has come together just so to divine precisely what the stars have aligned. A cosmic interference of the highest degree, perhaps. The big bang._

 _That's certainly what she felt like to me. One look, and then…_

Bang.

 _She is braided pigtails and an ivory pinafore, big browns and freckles and an ice cream cone on the ground, melting in the Californian heat._

 _And I, shell-shocked and stunned stupid in the wake of her. Heart open, spouting blood to the scuffed cobblestone, chest cracked wide in the hopes she'd take it all from me. I'd let her. Fuck, I'd let her._

 _Kismet, destiny, fate. Call it what you will, but nothing less than that could have engineered so perfectly all the strings of my life to place me there, in time, with her._

 _And how lucky was I to have lived and loved and lost with her.  
_

* * *

 _Friday, August 12th, 2016_

 _There is a piece of me, and I'm not sure how large that piece is, that feels wholly unfulfilled. An entirely ridiculous thought, all things considered. Have I not accomplished more in my chosen profession at my twenty-one years of age than most will by their mid-thirties? Have I not experienced so much of what the world has to offer, so early in my life? I have. And it's not enough._

 _There's something empty inside me. Not ugly-empty, not scary-empty. Just barren and uncomfortable, ever-present._

 _The only thing that terrifies me is the possibility of never knowing what will fill it._

* * *

My fingers brush along the seams of the leather journal as a warm breeze rolls through, carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass and earth as it flutters the pages. I shut the journal, tuck the pen away and reach for my carelessly tossed pack of smokes atop the glass tabletop, making quick work - _tap, tap, tap_ and then between my lips, lighting it, a heavy breath…

Smoking hasn't brought the comfort it used to, if I'm honest. It hasn't for a while. I quit during my stay in New York and it was… fine. Awful for the first couple of weeks, and then fairly manageable. But it seemed the closer I got to California, the more that empty ache in my chest changed, developed. Could smoking be the thing to fill it? I thought it might not hurt to try.

I've been here for three weeks. The ache is just growing larger, wider… and I've picked up this shitty fucking habit again.

The tell-tale creak of the French doors behind me alerts me to Mom's presence, even before she tuts and picks my pack off the table, pursing her lips at them.

"Edward… I thought you'd quit for good?"

I tuck the smoke at the corner of my mouth and smile around it, a cheeky little grin that makes her look at me like I'm ten years old again - all soft smile, warm eyes, hair the same color as mine tossing around her face in the breeze, big mug of coffee in one hand and my pack in the other.

"You're so pretty, Mom. How do you do it?"

She rolls her eyes, pulling out another wrought iron chair beside me and sitting down, folding her arms across her chest and peering out at the view around us.

I have to admit, after years of city life the 20-acres that surrounds Carlisle and Esme Cullen's home are a sight for sore eyes. At the risk of sounding like a chapter of ' _Anne of Green Gables_ ', it's pretty fucking pastoral. Meticulously maintained, tucked into the Northwest side of the Santa Monica mountains and so private it took a pair of binoculars and Dad's directions for me to spot the neighbour's horses what seemed like miles away.

Warm cream exteriors and a wrap-around porch with rocking chairs, turrets and claw-foot bathtubs... almost as if it were plucked straight out of a Twain-esque fantasy and dropped into the Californian heat. I hadn't been to the Cullen Family Estate since before I knew what girls were. Now, I can't believe I ever left. It came with a price, though - Grandma Cullen's passing.

I wasn't here. I had a show at The Bowery that night. It wasn't until I got off stage, slumped into a couch backstage and pulled out my phone to find 15 missed calls that I even knew she was _sick_.

My lungs burn a bit as I bend over and cough, the pull I took from my cig a little too rough. Mom leans over, tutting again but rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"Edward Anthony…"

"I know. I'll try again."

"That's all I ask," she sighs, lips twitching a bit as she leans back and takes a sip from her mug of coffee.

I raise my brow, holding a hand out toward her with a grin and she hands the hot drink over with a smile. I sip, humming a bit - smooth and nutty with a little honey and cream.

"I called you in for breakfast ten minutes ago, you know. You could have had your own instead of stealing mine."

"And go through another one of Emmett's rants about _Rosalie_? No thanks."

Mom narrows her eyes a bit, humming and looking off toward the horizon - a tell-tale sign she has something not-so-nice to say, but won't… because my mother is an absolute lady, through and through.

Not to be so Freudian, but I suspect it's why I haven't been able to settle for anyone thus far. Every girl has been too brash, too rough. Not soft, nor kind. No warmth.

I don't want to ' _settle'_ , anyway - the very idea makes my skin crawl. Call me idealistic, but I've always had the distinct feeling that my life is destined for a _big love_. Not a simple, quaint little romance with flowers and chocolates and pre-written Hallmark cards on birthdays and anniversaries. Something that consumes me… maybe even something that destroys me.

 _Macabre much? Cool it, kid._

"What? Does Esme _Evanson_ actually… disapprove of the lady in question?"

"You know full well I'm a Cullen now, thank you very much... and no, of course not. I think she's lovely, actually. It's just…"

"She's a Hale?"

Mom purses her lips, humming again.

"Now, you know I don't subscribe to that archaic thinking of your grandfather's, Edward. I don't..." she says, and I know she's stalling while she tries to think of something nice to say.

I scoff a bit, stubbing what's left of my smoke out on the bottom of my Chuck Taylor and tucking the butt end back into my pack in lieu of a garbage.

"I have eyes, Mom. You have eyes. That girl is a run-of-the-mill California coke queen and we both know it."

Mom gapes as I place the mug back in front of her, bending to kiss her cheek quickly.

" _Edward Anthony!_ "

I back away, hands held up in surrender as I turn to head inside.

"Don't shoot the messenger."

* * *

"You're late… again."

I try not to smirk at Jasper as he flies about the room, spouting off apologies like they're going out of style. Throwing his case down and pulling out his guitar, he plugs it in and tosses it across his body so hard it makes me wince a bit.

"For the love of God, Jasper, don't take it out on the Mustang," I grimace, holding my own Les Paul closer to my body.

He flicks on his amp, pulls a pick seemingly out of thin air and strums a G-chord. _Once, twice, three_ times.

"Screw you, Cullen. I may be late, but Caius and Felix aren't even here yet. Go crawl up someone else's ass and die."

My head is thrown back as I laugh, resting against the cushion of the worn-in armchair heavily.

"They're stuck on the 405, so… nothing new. They'll be here by five," I shrug, scanning his attire with an arched brow - wrinkled paisley button down, loosened black tie, jeans and Vans. "Where did _you_ come from?"

"My mother, presumably."

"Ha-ha. Why are you dressed like a... psychedelic accountant?"

Jasper looks down, as if his clothing is news to him.

"An _accountant_? Really? I was trying to hit more of a 'hip young professional' vibe."

"You've missed the mark, unfortunately. What's up?"

There's an extended few moments where Jasper continues to strum and tune, strum and tune and I absently pluck out a little melody. I've actually given up on the idea of him answering when he finally does.

"Rehab."

I sputter a bit, sitting straighter in the armchair as I feel my brows rise way, way up. Tall, lanky Jasper Hale with the surfer-dude long hair and ever-present grin, carrying and throwing around expensive guitars like they're nothing… an addict?

"No offense, man, but I wouldn't have pegged you for… _that_. You seem a little too clean-cut."

Jasper's strumming stops suddenly, a sharp chord ringing out like a record-scratch.

"Jesus, no. It's not - not like _that_. It isn't me, it's…"

I place my guitar to the side, resting my forearms on my knees and linking my fingers, leaning forward to listen.

"I get it. Is it… a family member? A friend?"

Jasper slumps, his whole body visibly weighed down from the subject and I tell him not to worry about it. He holds a hand up, falling back into the sofa across from me.

"Sort of. It's my little sister's best friend. She… she's been in there for about two months now. They couldn't get her to calm down for the first few weeks and she was going absolutely mental. Between the withdrawals and everything… my sister and her friend were going crazy worrying about her and I was sitting around doing sweet fuck all, just wishing I could help," he sighs. "Felix and I were talking one day about how the care home his Grandma is at brings in these people for 'musical therapy' once every couple of weeks. You know - they give all the patients tambourines and make them sing songs and shit."

I sit back, folding my arms across my chest, entirely too intrigued.

"And I remembered how Bella was always so interested in my guitars whenever she'd come over. I'd taught her one or two songs - just simple shit, you know? Like 'Earth Angel' and 'Let It Be', and she absolutely ate it up. So, I figured… if I could somehow pull my shit together enough to seem semi-professional, maybe I could convince her doctors some sessions with me might be beneficial."

 _Bella._

 _Bella, Bella, Bella..._

I roll the name around my head a bit, deeply fascinated with this tragic girl's story and not entirely too sure why. Morbid curiosity, perhaps? Just something about the idea of a young girl, a Californian teeny-bopper, sweet and innocent… losing her mind in a rehabilitation center. A contradiction of the highest degree.

 _Sugar and spice, and everything not-so-nice._

"And did it?" I ask, looking down and picking at a loose thread on the arm of the chair.

Jasper laughs, shaking his head a bit as if in disbelief.

"Yeah, it really fucking did. No one could believe it. I think seeing a familiar face in there did a lot for her, but what really shocked the shit out of me was… she's _good_ , man. Like, really good."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know… I thought I'd have to put up with her wailing a few Top 40 hits, pretend she's great to encourage her. All the while my motherfucking ears are bleeding, you know? But, it wasn't like that at all. She doesn't want to learn any of that pop bullshit. She'll come to me every week with something new, something _cool_. Radiohead, The National... last week, it was Portishead. The week before that, The Cure."

"And this week?" I smile, wildly curious now because he's just outright named four of my favorite artists.

Jasper grins, looks down at his guitar and starts plucking out the first few unmistakable bars of 'Into Dust'. My eyebrows shoot up, and I breathe a little laugh through my nose.

"No shit? Mazzy Star…" I say. "And she's good, you said?"

Jasper stops, muting the notes suddenly with a hand on the strings.

"She's like Hope Sandoval incarnate. I swear to God, Edward, she could be her pale little sister."

"How old is she?" I ask, picking my guitar up again and fucking around with the tuning pegs.

"Jail-bait age. She's nearly seventeen, _and_ she's my sister's best friend. Don't do it, man."

I roll my eyes, standing when I hear Caius' van rumbling outside.

"Screw off. I was thinking for the band, dip-shit. I've been itching to do something with a female vocalist for a while now."

Jasper perks right up at this, nodding before I've even finished speaking.

"I hadn't even thought of that, but… yeah. Shit, _yeah_ , that would be a great idea. Give her something to do once she's out, away from…"

He hesitates. I nod like I understand, but I don't - not really. He means away from the drugs, I'm sure, but it's so far removed from what I know that I don't want to assume.

It's not as if I've been sheltered by any means. Being involved in the music scene in New York, albeit briefly, opens your eyes to a _lot_ you wouldn't have otherwise known. My first gig there, I walked into the restroom and stumbled over the bass player of the opening band crouched over, needle in his arm. When I went back to Chicago and played with the Philharmonic, I'd found out half the woodwind section likes to do coke on the weekends. Having been a teenager once upon a time, I've smoked weed. Been offered more, but never tried it.

I come from a good home, a great family. I've never been in want of anything, but I haven't been spoiled. I had good grades in school - excellent, actually. I was Homecoming and Prom King my senior year. Solid group of friends, a couple girlfriends. As far as I see it, addicts are people who have unresolved issues or are generally unfulfilled in their lives. They're missing something essential. I'm not, and I never have been…

Well, until recently - and I'm not even sure what it is I'm _supposed_ to be missing.

It makes me wonder what _this_ girl is lacking, though. What could make a sixteen year old turn to something so heinous?

I don't get the chance to grill Jasper on it anymore. Caius and Felix choose that moment to burst through the doors, Caius' bass strapped to his back, the head stock banging against the frame as he stumbles in.

I wince again.

"Watch your fucking bass!" Jasper groans, jumping forward to take it off him.

"Eat me, Hale. I forgot my case at The Six."

The Six, iconic local rock club and the last place we played.

"It's probably long gone by now," Felix sighs, moving straight over to his drum set and falling heavily onto the stool.

"I'll call Vic when we're done. She probably grabbed it," I pipe in, plugging into my amp and adjusting the volume. I can feel three sets of eyes on me, but refuse to look up. "Before you say anything, don't."

"Are you ever going to hit that, Edward?" Caius asks, settling his bass back around him and plugging in. I narrow my eyes as Jasper and Felix crack up.

"That's none of your business," I say, trying not to snap. The woman has my patience wearing thin enough on her own, without provocation from my 'friends' - and barely that, really. Caius and Felix were playing with Jasper during the gig I first met him at, loaner musicians from a couple other bands in the area on hiatus.

"Never stick your dick in crazy, man," Felix drawls in his slow, deep voice, shaking his head and stretching his arms above him.

I straighten up, adjust the mic in front of me and begin to strum into our first song.

"I certainly don't plan on it," I sigh, before all that's left is the music.

* * *

I'm twisting to put a carton of OJ back into the fridge, a stolen piece of bacon in the other hand when Hurricane Emmett barrels into me.

"Shit! Fuck!" he roars.

"What the hell are you flailing around for?" I grumble, glancing forlornly at my dropped food on the floor, holding the side he's just tumbled into. "Also... I think you cracked a rib, fat ass."

Emmett throws open cupboards and drawers, twisting to toss aside Dad's newspaper from earlier this morning.

"It's not fat, it's _muscle_ … and you're just jealous."

I sigh, picking up my sad bacon and throwing it roughly into the trash.

"Yes, Emmett. I am completely wrought with envy," I snap, crossing my arms and leaning against the island, watching as he flies back and forth around the kitchen. Picking up pillows from the dining nook, peeking into vases of geraniums. "What are you looking for?"

"My keys!" he shouts, finally coming to a stop and throwing his hands up. "I don't know where the hell I put them when I got in last night."

I glance at the clock, the corner of my lips twitching up.

"You're late to class."

Emmett gapes at me, putting his hands on his knees, eyes wide as he bends over. "What? No _way_ , I hadn't realized!" he gasps, feigning surprise.

I roll my eyes, looking at the time again. Still a bit before I have to meet up with Vicky…

"Do you want a ride?"

Emmett sighs, running a hand roughly over the top of his short-cropped hair, and nods.

"Yeah… yeah, Edward, that'd be great."

Twenty-five minutes later, we're pulling up to what looks to be a castle. No, maybe a Freemason's Hall. Definitely something old and important, all brick and turrets.

"Jesus… it's like if Hogwarts had a geriatric, American cousin."

Emmett nods, sighing. "Welcome to Beverly Hills Prep."

I hum noncommittally and stop when Emmett tells me to, a good trek away from the front doors and on the other side of a roundabout with a giant fountain in the middle.

A fucking fountain. Malls, hotels and parks need fountains - not high schools.

"Embarrassed to be seen with me, Em?"

"Oh yeah, bro. My cool, older, mysterious brother with the sick car. I'm mortified."

I raise my brows in lieu of the obvious question, and he rolls his eyes.

"The principal's office is right beside the front doors. He watches like a hawk, and if he hears your car and sees me coming in _way_ late…" he swallows. "Well, let's just say it won't be pretty. Your ride isn't the most silent in the world, E."

I nod, not disagreeing because he's damn right about that. She's flawless inside and out, but it's an old car. If I wanted a quiet ride, I'd have bought a fucking Prius.

"When are you out?" I ask, adjusting my Clubmasters against the glare coming off a shiny black SUV as it pulls right up to the front doors.

"Three o'clock. You going to be here?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I drawl and Emmett snorts, patting me briefly on the shoulder before hopping out and throwing a ' _thanks_ ' over his shoulder.

I hang back for a minute after Emmett goes in, just watching. Call it regular curiosity, call it nosiness but from what I've heard of Beverly Hills Prep… well, its reputation precedes it. There could be anyone coming out of that car.

The rumors I've heard through Em are numerous. Politician's kids, athlete's, actor's. What piqued my interest was the musicians. Not their kids, but _them_. One of my heroes could be on the other side of that tinted glass... just getting a glimpse of them would be enough.

The door opens on the other side, the side I can't see. There's a pause and I strain to look beneath the undercarriage at the shoes...

A pair of well-loved Doc's.

 _Fuck, that could be anyone. Gavin Rossdale? Dave Grohl? Trent Reznor… does he have kids? Jesus Christ, Chris Cornell?_

The onyx monstrosity pulls away from the curb, and I'm left staring at the back of…

A girl. A small girl, all soft edges and uncertainty, gripping the strap of the worn leather messenger bag on her shoulder like a lifeline. I can see her trepidation, even from only the back of her. She shifts her feet, staring up at the school like it's a dragon she has to defeat and she's a woefully unprepared knight.

She's slight, but not _little._ At least a junior but everything about her is so, so frail. Delicate fingers and arms, down-turned shoulders and a scary-small waist. Her sweater looks like it engulfs her completely.

Something about the whole thing makes my spine shiver, uneasy.

The girl huffs a breath, squares her shoulders and strides up the steps, straight through the front doors.

A sharp horn honking from somewhere not-too-distant snaps me out of it, and I'm turning and speeding away.

* * *

As it turns out, Vicky does have Caius' case.

And, as it turns out, the only person available to pick it up for him happened to be me.

 _Fate, you cruel mistress._

Vicky wants to meet at my place. I tell her I don't have a place yet, that I'm still with my parents while I look in an effort to deter her. It doesn't. She decides she wants to meet my Mom.

There's no fucking way _that's_ ever going to happen, so I tell her I'll meet her at The Six.

 _Neutral ground. This is good… right?_

Wrong.

I know I've made a mistake when I walk into the warehouse-turned-venue at half past one, and Vicky is nursing a beer and wearing what can only be described as a patent leather tube. I start sweating just looking at it, thinking of the dampness already gathering on my back due to the brief trip inside from my car.

"Already on the sauce, Vic... little early for that, no?" I ask, sliding onto the stool beside her.

She doesn't have the case with her.

 _Shit._

"It's five o'clock somewhere, sweetie-pie," she winks, and I assume it's supposed to be sexy or something but… it's not. She crosses her legs, the tip of her shiny black stilettos brushing my jean-covered calf.

This is what I can't stomach about Victoria Freeland. She's obvious. Too, too obvious - which would be a jackpot for most guys. Not for me.

I've seen too many girls like Vicky in my travels - moderately attractive, talented but too desperate to make their big break. They lose themselves, turning into what they think the industry wants them to be - sexpots with big tits and no brains. Even as the fiery front-woman of The Nomads, a band that has its own definite fan-base and produces a decent turn-out, she has no identity other than ' _that hot chick from that one band_.'

Victoria wants me because when she looks at me, she sees opportunity. She sees collaborations and notoriety that my status in the scene can give her. She sees sex and drugs and rock n' roll.

And I want no part of it.

I shift slightly, clearing my throat and facing the bar completely, hands folded atop the counter. Heidi comes over from further down, where's she's been speaking to the only other patron - The Six is the most popular spot for the local rock scene by far, but only really starts to kick off when the sun goes down. For now, the stage is clear and the space in front of it is empty, swept. The chairs and tables are all polished and shined and the metal overlook and office above us are devoid of people.

"What's shakin', Cullen?" she smirks, holding her hand out.

"Sweet fuck all. How's Jane?" I ask, smiling at her rolled eyes and bumping our fists. Heidi's on-again, off-again romance with Jane Tracy, bassist of Volterra, is the stuff of legends.

"Like I would know. We haven't talked since her gig last month."

I raise my eyebrows at this, nodding my thanks as she places a frosty glass of Coke in front of me.

"Really?"

"Really. Last I heard, she was hooking up with Aro."

I choke on my drink a bit at that, because Aro Volta is at least ten years Jane's senior. Then, my eyes narrow because…

"She's sleeping with the president of Volturi Records?"

Heidi nods, rubbing at the counter with her cloth a little too intently.

"Wow. I'm… sorry," I say, clearing my throat and feeling like I should be saying a hell of a lot more.

Vicky sighs impatiently beside me and Heidi looks at me with a smirk and a raised brow before turning away, walking back to the other end of the bar. I clench my jaw and angle back, reluctantly.

"So," she starts. "How have you been since the last gig? You haven't called."

"Yeah," I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I've been busy, you know. Moving across the country is a time-consuming thing."

"I'll say. I'm sorry you have to stay with your parents, that's so lame."

I give her a tight smile but say nothing because it's actually _not_ that lame. I haven't spent any real time with my Mom and Dad in months save for the occasional visit, and I'm loving it so far. I know that I'll be moving out soon, most likely to one of our family's properties in the city, so why not enjoy this time now?

"So, do you have the case?" I ask abruptly, looking around curiously and twirling my car keys around a finger _once, twice, three_ times. Little body language cues, subtle, just enough to make her think I have places to be without explicitly saying so.

Vicky frowns, clears her throat and then hops off the stool - using my thigh for balance as she does so. Her long, black nails dig in just a little too much for it to be completely comfortable.

"In my car," she says, and I have to hold back my sigh because _I should've fucking known._

"And where is your car?" I ask, standing and pulling my wallet out, leaving a bill on the counter and walking quickly to the door. Heidi won't accept my money if I'm still here - the girl is too nice for her own good. I want to make sure she doesn't have the chance to object.

"At my place."

I hold the door open for Vicky as we exit into the stifling California sun, closing my eyes as she walks past to gather my composure.

"How did you get here, then?"

"Laurent dropped me off on his way to work. My place is close, just a few minutes away. If you don't mind, we can swing by and I'll run up and get it?"

I truly doubt that's what will happen, but what other choice do I have? Caius needs his case, and _I_ need to get this all over with as quickly as possible.

As expected, when we pull up in front of Vicky's apartment building, she turns toward me and runs her fingernails down my forearm.

"Coming up?" she asks, licking her lips. I wonder briefly if she's aware she's licking all her lip gloss off, if she cares. My nose wrinkles despite myself.

"No, thank you. I have somewhere I need to be."

"Come on," she whispers, her hand on my thigh - again. "Come up for some coffee... maybe tea? What do you prefer?"

"Neither, right now. I really have somewhere I have to be, Vic. Just… grab the case," I say, clenching my jaw. "Please?" I add, because my Mother raised me right.

There's a too-long pause, where she's looking at me and I'm looking out at the palm trees on either side of her street. Then, she huffs and sighs and climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind her.

I want to tell her to watch it because this is a collector's, but I don't want to be _that_ guy. So I stay silent, drumming my fingers on the wheel as I wait.

This car is… so much more than a car. It's been my dream ride since I was nine years old, when I saw a picture of it in one of the magazines in the waiting room of my Dad's practice - a 1965 Mustang convertible, raven black with cherry-red leather interiors. I know he would've bought it for me had I asked, but it felt so much more rewarding being able to with my own money when I was sixteen. Leaving it when I was away was torture.

Vicky stomps - literally, stomps like an overgrown child - across the street back to me. She wrenches the backdoor open and throws the case so hard it slides along the leather seats, thumping against the opposite door.

"Would you chill?" I finally say, because it's so painfully obvious she's just being spiteful.

She coughs out a sharp laugh, leaning into the passenger side window, giving me a very deliberate look at her cleavage trapped behind shiny... whatever the hell it is. I purposefully look directly at her face, arching a brow.

She opens her mouth, closes and opens it again. Scoffs. Rolls her eyes. And then, she turns and struts back to her apartment.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, you'll never guess who I saw today."

Emmett doesn't bother to open his door when he gets in the car, instead opting to hop in like a hefty gymnast.

"This isn't a buddy-cop movie, Em - you can't vault my car like that. Shit," I mumble because yeah, I'm a little annoyed at his carefree treatment of my ride - but I also really, really don't want to be _that guy_.

"Oh, cry me a river, JT. Like I was saying, guess who I saw?"

"The Dalai Lama."

"Namaste, dude. But no, better than that."

I raise my eyebrows, pulling back onto the main road, not wanting to even attempt correcting Emmett on the differences between Buddhism and Hinduism.

"Better than the 14th incarnation of Buddha?"

Emmett snorts, fiddling with the radio.

"Yeah, man. _Better_."

I sigh, one hand on the wheel and the other tugging at my hair - another shitty habit, completely impossible to get rid of.

"Well, I'm absolutely burning up with curiosity here…"

"Bella Swan, man!"

I blink silently at him because thanks to Jasper, I think I do know who Bella Swan is - I'm just not entirely sure I'm _supposed_ to know. He's looking at me like I am, though, so I arch a brow and turn up the radio when he hits a good tune.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. She's not what I expected… like, _at all_."

"And what were you expecting?" I ask, because aside from knowing she's a former addict who has a mean set of pipes and a natural affinity for the guitar, I actually know next to nothing about the girl.

"To be honest?" he sighs, scratching his head and sinking down into his seat. "From what Gramps used to tell us about The Swans, _and_ her reputation, I thought she'd be the fucking devil. But she's not. She's a little quiet, kind of shy, but really… nice. Like she used to be when we were kids, you know?"

And I feel like an absolute idiot for not making the connection beforehand, because when Emmett mentions Grandpa Evanson and The Swans and ' _when we were kids_ ' it all clicks.

I sit up straighter in my seat, memories playing out like faded movie reels in my mind.

"Is… are you… are you saying she's the girl from Carmel?"

Emmett doesn't speak for so long, I think maybe he's gone suddenly mute or passed out. I look at him when we've come to a stoplight and he's just gaping at me, brows bunched together.

"What?" I ask, blinking back at him. "What the fuck did I say?"

"You're a goddamn idiot, dude. What did you not understand when I told you I was seeing Rosalie _Hale_? You're friends with her brother. You knew she was one of the girls, from way back when."

A little raven-haired spitfire, a blonde tyrant. A brunette sweetheart, sticky fingers from the candies Mom bought for us, ivory bows tied to the ends of braided pigtails.

The subject of the first song I ever wrote.

My first - maybe _only_ \- real muse.

"Shit," I breathe. "Fuck."

"What?" Emmett mumbles, pulling an apple from his backpack and taking a large bite.

"I feel a bit stupid now."

"Now? Bro, I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you," he says, mouth still full, slapping a heavy hand to my shoulder. "You've always been an idiot."

"Shut up," I sigh, running my hand roughly through my hair again. "So, Bella Swan is one of the girls from Carmel… and she's also the girl who just got out of rehab?" I ask, hoping it's not true but knowing my wishful thinking is in vain.

Emmett nods solemnly, watching the scenery pass by.

"Yeah, man. It's fucked up, right?" he asks, looking at me again. "I mean, it's just not right. She's too young to have already gone through something like that. I can tell it's messed her up."

"How so?"

He shakes his head, giving a _'tsk'_ and looking eerily like Dad.

"I don't know… like, at lunch today, all these people kept coming up and saying all this shit to her. She just sat there and took it, not saying a word. It's like they were speaking to a completely different person. The things they said, it just didn't match up with how she is now. And Rosalie…"

I heave a sigh, because I _know_ about Rosalie and if this girl is a recovering addict… well, that is the last person she should be hanging around with.

I say nothing, letting Emmett gather his thoughts.

"I really like Rose, E. Like… really, _really_ like her. But she's got problems," he winces, as if remembering something. "Like, we were at this party last week, right? I won't lie to you, I smoked some kush."

"Emmett," I snap. "You can't be doing shit like that. What if you get randomly tested? They catch it and you're off the team."

"I know!" he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "I know… but Rosie was doing it, and she offered it to me and I didn't want to seem like a wet blanket, you know? So I did it. But when I went to find her later... she was face down, three lines deep into a pretty hefty pile of coke."

My stomach sinks and all I can think is how fucked up all of this is. I try to remember what I was doing at Emmett's age, just a few years ago… I was thinking of my college applications, preparing for Homecoming, worrying about who I was going to ask to the dance, wondering if I was going to get laid. Typical, normal teenager stuff.

"Jesus, Em… this is some heavy shit."

"Yeah," he sighs. "And it's like, she doesn't even think it's a problem. She doesn't _know,_ you know? It's just so normal for her. So, at lunch I let it slip about the gig tonight. I totally forgot that Rose didn't want me to tell Bella. She _just_ got out of rehab, she shouldn't be in a pub."

"Right," I nod, still not quite believing we're discussing _teenagers_ with _drug problems_.

"But my big mouth brought it up, and then everything got… weird, I don't know. Rosie basically told Bella that if she ever wants to fall off the wagon, she's got her covered."

"She… offered a recovering drug addict _drugs_?"

"I think so."

" _Jesus,_ " I say again, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. "This is wrong. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I know it."

My knee is hopping now, bouncing as I contemplate everything my brother has just told me. One thing in particular sticks out.

"She's coming to the gig tonight?"

He grimaces. "Yeah."

And I feel like a shit, because I know she shouldn't be but I'm so curious about her I'm almost glad.

 _You're going to hell, Edward Cullen._

"Well… I can almost guarantee there won't be any drugs there. Not unless Rosalie brings them."

Emmett narrows his eyes at me. "How?"

I press a button on the remote tucked into my sun visor and shrug, watching the gates of Mom and Dad's house open before us.

"Don't worry about it. It'll be clean."

* * *

"Put that away. You're not bringing it to the gig."

Felix looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, his half-rolled joint poised in front of his mouth, tongue hanging out to seal it.

"What?" Caius scoffs, stubbing out the last bit of his own and sitting up in the scruffy armchair. "What are you, the po-po?" he laughs, and Felix joins him.

I sigh, grabbing at the ends of my hair, already at my wit's end because Jasper and I got here five minutes ago but it's clear Caius and Felix have been hot-boxing the recording booth of the practice space for at least a couple of hours. The sickly-heavy pungent smell of weed clings to the foam insulation on the walls, hangs heavily in the air and I hope to God it isn't sticking to my clothes. The last thing I want is to go around smelling like Woodstock.

"You're not bringing it to the gig," I say again, grabbing one of the paisley scarves hung over a mic stand and waving it around, trying to air out the room. "Leave it here or drop it at home, I don't care. It's not coming with us to Newport."

"Holy shit, Cullen, talk about a fucking buzzkill!" Caius groans. "What's all this about?"

I keep my voice low, trying to keep Jasper from hearing as he packs up our gear in the next room. I'm not sure how he'd feel about Rosalie and her posse coming tonight, and I'm not sure I _want_ to know when I still have to spend an hour with him in a locked car.

"There's going to be kids there, Jasper's sister and her friends. He doesn't want them around any of this shit, and I agree."

"With all due respect, I don't think a little bit of weed is enough to tempt Rosalie Hale," Felix says, leaning back and tapping his nose with his index finger. "If you know what I mean."

Caius cracks up which makes Felix crack up, and I'm still just trying to get this _fucking smell_ out of here.

"Shut up, Felix. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" he smirks. "Her and her friends, they're a regular bunch of snow bunnies. Caius, remember that party we went to a few months ago? The one in that penthouse at The Waldorf?"

Caius whistles, leaning his head back, closing his eyes.

"Hell yeah. That was wild… what was that one chick's name? The one with the heart-shaped sunglasses?"

"Uh… I-Izz… Izzy, I think someone called her?"

"Yeah, Izzy! Damn, she was cool. And smoking fucking hot. You know I don't say that often, so it must be true. But, she was _cool_ ," he sighs. "Edward, man, you had to see it. She'd do a line, and everyone would watch. Like, they couldn't look away. And when she was done, she'd sit back and smile with these sunglasses on - in a dark-ass room! Just smile, and everyone would continue to party."

"It _was_ wild," Felix nods. "Hey... if Rose is coming, do you think she'll be there tonight?"

Caius groans, cupping his crotch and grabbing it roughly. My spine straightens. "I fucking hope so, dude. Jail-bait or not, she's worth the risk."

At some point, I sat on an amp as I listened to them talk, hands on my knees and brows furrowed while my stomach _twisted, twisted, turned_. Truthfully, they way they spoke about this girl made me want to wretch. If she was Rose's age, she couldn't be any older than seventeen. And, if by chance she happened to be who I strangely suspected she might be…

"Get the fuck up," I snap, standing and pushing Felix's feet from the table in front of him roughly. "Pack up your shit and get it in the van. After tonight, I'm done with the both of you."

Dead silence. They gape at me. There's a moment's pause, and then…

"Who do you think you are, Cullen?" Caius spits, eyes narrowed as he stands and takes a step toward me.

"It doesn't matter who I _think_ I am - I _know_ you're a piece of shit and after this, we're done."

His eyes narrow. "You think you're gonna find another bassist like me? Another drummer like Felix? What are you going to do about the show at The Six next month?"

I laugh, completely humorless, and throw my hands up as I back out of the room.

"I don't know where _you_ are, but I'm in L.A., baby. Dickheads like you two are a dime a dozen, I'm sure."

* * *

Jasper doesn't argue when I tell him I'm taking my gear and car to the gig, instead of Caius' van. He just looks up from where he's crouched on the floor, wrapping a cable, and shrugs. He stands, grabs his guitar case and nods to the door.

"Lead the way, Captain," he says, and I know that despite everything else, Jasper is with me. I probably knew it the first time we played together, because it was the easiest jam session I've ever had - everything flowed perfectly. We were on the same page. He's the rhythm to my lead, and it was obvious from the start.

We load the back of my car, and I thank whoever will listen for the extra trunk space in vintage rides because with both of our amps, cases and mic stands - it's a perfect fit.

Jasper doesn't say anything when Caius and Felix come out to start loading their van with their gear, and I don't either. It's obvious there's tension and to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure why they're going through the motions. I know they're not going to show, because it's exactly what jackasses like them do. They don't think about the gig itself, about the money or the exposure - just what it'll do to me if they ditch.

We're on the road to Newport shortly after, and every time I glance in my rear view I'm happy to see that I'm right: there's no sign of their van anywhere, for miles back.

It's not until we get to the venue - Muldoon's Irish Pub - that Jasper pipes up, not looking up from his phone.

"So, I've got Taylor and Wren from The Lodge to fill in for Caius and Felix."

I smile - first, because I know our opening band, The Lodge, and they're fairly stellar. Second, because I hadn't said a damn word and Jasper just _knew_.

"That obvious, huh?"

"You were so fucking tense I was worried you'd pulled something," he nods, and I snort. "That, and they took every single piece of their gear with them. Like, down to the strap locks. I figured when they left, they wouldn't be coming back."

"Are you cool with this?" I wince, because this situation kind of fucking blows and the night now rests on a whole lot of improvisation and quick thinking.

Jasper shrugs, pocketing his phone. "I trust your judgement. I know you'd do the same for me."

Two hours, three shots of Irish whiskey and a basket of soda bread later, we're back on even ground. Taylor and Wren are a breeze to teach, knowing half of our set list already. It's all deceptively too easy.

"This feels strange," Jasper says a short while later, collapsing onto a couch in the back room.

"Like we're just waiting for the other shoe to drop?" I sigh, crossing my arms and leaning back against the wall opposite him.

"Exactly. Like, it couldn't have been _that_ easy to get rid of those scumbags. It couldn't have been _that_ easy to find replacements."

Taylor pops his head in, shaggy brown hair drooping into his eyes, and asks for Jasper's help with some of the stage's wiring. I'm just about to trail along to offer my assistance when my phone beeps with a text message.

A name I haven't seen in months flashes back at me, and I clench my jaw.

 _Tanya_

I contemplate not opening it, deleting and letting it float off into the technological ether. But curiosity gets the best of me, as it always does, and I find myself swiping and reading before I can think better of it.

 **How are you?**

That's it. No introductions, no ' _hello_ 's, nothing. This is just how Tanya is - abrupt, cold and deliberate.

Despite my better judgement, I respond.

 **Who's this?**

And maybe that's petty and maybe it's a bit childish, but I truly don't care. I've been done with the woman for months, completely wiped my hands clean of her. There's nothing more for us to say.

 **Do not be so banal, Edward. You are back in California?**

The woman even sounds like a robot through text.

 **That depends on who wants to know. Who is this?**

And her response is precisely what I should have expected:

 **This is Dr. Tanya Denali, your ex-girlfriend. Are you back in California?**

"Yo, Edward! Crowds are coming in, man. Time to network," Wren calls as he walks past the door, knocking on the frame. I shoot off a quick response before silencing my phone and pocketing it, hopefully for the remainder of the night.

 **That's none of your concern. Lose my number, Tanya.**

* * *

The courtyard is bustling by the time I finally grab my drink from the bar and venture out. I lean against the green French door frame, sipping on my Jameson and Coke slowly, observing.

The usual crowd is present, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I note they haven't yet noticed I'm here. The predominantly young, female presence is strong but it's balanced by a healthy dose of the tried and true regulars I've come to know through my gigs along the West Coast.

Heidi is here, lingering, talking to Taylor and trying her damnedest not to look at Jane up on the stage, talking shop with Wren; Vicky and Laurent are in a heated conversation on the wrap-around balcony above; and I notice, with interest, Jasper speaking to a couple of blondes.

My eyes stray to the door and with a jolt, I realize I'm waiting - I'd like to say ' _for nothing_ ', but then I'd be a liar.

Abruptly, there's a commotion and raised voices. Heads are turning and I'm craning my neck a bit to see, and then I notice her and it feels like I've never really seen straight before now.

Because in a moment - a quick, blinding, astral moment - I'm completely and utterly fucked.

A wild honey-brown gaze, framed with impossibly long ebony lashes; Snow White put to shame if she were to compete with the flawless cream skin and cherry-kissed lips of the angel in a little black dress before me.

She's all brilliant fury, her tiny fists clenched with such a defiant little frown twisting her pout, I can't help but smile.

" _For God's sake, Jazz - I'm not a child!_ " she snaps, and there's something about the look in her eyes… she's so young but it's like she's a hundred years old, and I think I believe her when she says it.

But then I'm remembering braided pigtails and musty little book shops, reading out of ' _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ ' and bare feet in the sand. Strawberry candies and strawberry ice cream, and the look on her face the last time I saw her - and I can't reconcile one with the other.

Not until she's barreling toward me.

And I know she's going to crash into me. I know she's blindly storming away, stomping her little Doc-clad feet and _of course_ it was her at the school earlier today. _Of course_ this is the Bella from rehab, and the girl from Carmel and I wish she weren't Izzy from The Waldorf but I know that's her, too.

My skin is buzzing, every nerve ending electrified at the very sight of her because _this girl, this girl, this girl_ … this is _the_ fucking girl. The _only_ girl.

When we finally collide and my hand is on her shoulder I shouldn't be surprised, because _of course_ she smells like strawberries and cream, clean skin and sunshine and her skin is like silk and _oh,_ _holy fuck, I'm_ so _screwed._

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"It's no problem at all," I manage. She freezes but I have to walk away because I can't - _I can't._

I'm halfway to the front doors, my escape firmly in sight when Jasper calls my name and half the fucking room stands at attention. I don't have to look too hard to realize it's the decidedly feminine half that does.

I swear under my breath, closing my eyes for a brief moment and trying to shake the feeling of her from my fingertips.

I can't. It's impossible. It's like every inch of skin I touched, she's embedded herself in me _so damn deeply._

I turn, making my way back to Jasper and trying to ignore how a tight circle of bodies begins to form around me.

"Where have you been, man?" he grins, and to anyone else it would look so easy; on Jasper, it's too-tight and false. I follow his line of sight to the small sprite of a girl just to my right.

I feel like a fool for still being surprised, but it's so obviously that spitfire of a kid from all those summers ago and I wonder how long Jasper has been in love with her. The way he looks at her, eyes wide and intent and desperate, is shockingly obvious.

I lean closer to him, keeping my voice as low as I dare.

"As a wise man once said… ' _Jail-bait age. Don't do it, man._ '"

He shoots me a withering look, draining his whiskey on the rocks in one long gulp and slamming the empty glass on the table.

"Cullen," Rosalie shouts, even though I'm right beside her. She grabs my upper arm. "Where's your brother?"

' _Where's your coke?'_ I want to snap back. ' _Where's your dealer?'_ But I'm not that kind of fucking guy, so I just shrug and nod toward the bar.

She narrows her eyes a bit, pursing her lips.

"Fat lot of good that does me. Thanks, Eduardo, thanks a _bunch_."

She stalks off, blonde hair swishing behind her.

I raise my brows. "Jazz, don't take this the wrong way…"

He nods slowly, staring after her. "My sister is a raging bitch?"

"You said it, man. Not me," I sigh, sipping on my drink to keep my shaking hands busy… because I thought maybe I might have seen Emmett inside, and I might have seen a long mane of shiny brown hair tucked under his arm. My brain is racing, thinking thoughts it has no place thinking and I need a fucking distraction so badly I want to scream.

"I'm Alice Brandon," comes a high, bright voice from beside me. A pale little hand shoots out, nearly poking into my chest.

The small, raven-haired girl - _Alice_ \- has hopped up onto a bar stool, her ankles crossed primly.

She's staring at me with a pair of disconcerting… purple eyes?

"Edward Cullen," I mumble, momentarily distracted as I shake her hand. "I'm sorry, but are those your real eyes?"

She pulls her hand away, blinks a few times, pretends to scrub one with a balled-up fist and then smiles.

"As far as I can tell, they're definitely real. I grew them myself."

I smile despite myself, because whatever is fueling her is contagious. I have the brief thought that maybe it's something illegal, but her irises are clear and her pupils are the right size, so it can't be.

"Nice to meet you - "

" _Again_ ," she interrupts.

I furrow my brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Nice to meet you, _again_. Surely, you've figured it out by now. Rosalie, Bella and I - in Carmel?" she clarifies, and it's the first time someone has confirmed who the girl is. I feel like an absolute idiot, because a small thrill goes through me at the sound of her name and _fuck_ , I have absolutely no business feeling that way.

I could lie but the way she's looking at me makes me want to tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth - _so help me God_.

"I remember."

"Oh, good!" she chirps and then she claps, and from the corner of my eye I can see Jasper trying to hide his smile behind his hand. "Jasper wasn't there. Space camp... wasn't it, Jazzy?" she calls, and his head snaps up.

"Uh… space camp. Yeah, that's right."

Their eyes meet, and I'm standing there in the middle just glancing back and forth between them. I'm feeling strange and like I should fucking do something… like leave, and let their little lover's quarrel play out without an audience.

"Anyway," she sighs, waving her hands as if she's brushing the moment away. "I hope our ridiculous little family rivalry won't deter you from sticking around with us. Your brother seems to make my Rose quite happy. I'd love to keep it that way."

I breathe out a little laugh through my nose because of all the things I'm concerned with, a ridiculous spat between our great-grandfathers is the least of my worries.

 _Yeah, because now you're a predator, you complete asshole - thinking about Alice's best friend. A sixteen year old girl. Seventeen? Doesn't matter. You're definitely going straight to hell._

"As long as Rose makes sure to keep my brother out of trouble, I have absolutely no problem with it," I say pointedly, maintaining eye contact as Alice regards me carefully. _One, two, three_ seconds pass and she smiles.

"I'll see what I can do," she says knowingly, and it's probably stupid - I _know_ it's stupid - but I think I trust this kid.

The crowd around us pretends not to notice as I place my empty glass on the table and move to turn away, and their eyes are oppressive. I make some excuse about getting a refill before I stalk through the throng, pointedly avoiding looking at the bar and heading straight for the bathrooms.

Miraculously, they're empty which is both a good and a bad thing. Good, because I can try to get a hold of myself without anyone seeing me. Bad, because now I'm talking to myself - out loud.

"Get a fucking grip, Cullen," I hiss at my own reflection, hands braced on the counter tops. There are two ruddy splotches of pink on my cheekbones, and I'm not sure if it's the alcohol or the heat or _the girl_.

My chest leaps. I curse loudly and turn to sit on the counter top, shoving my face in my hands and breathing out a weak, half-hearted chuckle.

 _This is impossible… it's just impossible. One look, and she's got you_ this _spun? There's no way._

I splash icy-cool water onto my face, using my t-shirt to dry it off. I tug on my hair, take a piss and wash my hands. I feel around for my pack of smokes, and then I'm cracking open the window and taking deep drags, blowing it into the dry heat outside.

When the cig is nothing more than a filter and I've completely run out of distractions, I stalk back out…

And promptly lose my shit, choking out a laugh, because Emmett is backed against the bar with Rosalie in front of him and her finger wagging in his face. He looks like he's about to lose _his_ shit, literally… or, maybe toss his cookies.

"Whoa now, what's going on here?" I say, but I can't stop laughing and I definitely can't hide the tears of mirth gathered in the corners of my eyes. Rosalie plants me with a withering look that is so eerily similar to Jasper's, it throws me for a second.

"Your brother is trashed."

"My _who_ is _what now_?" I gape, turning to Emmett - who at least has the decency to look bashful. "How the fuck are you drunk right now? Where did you get alcohol from?"

"Uh…"

"Was it Liam? He's never slipped you any before. What did you do?"

"No! It wasn't Liam. It's, uh… I…"

I can hear the band starting up outside. I tell Rosalie to go and assure her I'll handle Emmett. She doesn't look certain and the way her hands are hovering over him is almost kind of sweet, but I reiterate that it's fine. She leaves with a sigh, her arms crossed.

I regard my brother for a moment as he hiccups and burps.

"I snuck it in," he mumbles. "Put some Fireball in a flask and tucked it into my boxers."

I snort, then I chuckle and then I full-out laugh because sure, he definitely shouldn't have done that. But it's _so_ something a teenager would do - so something _I_ might've done - that I can't find it in me to care too much.

 _Lord knows the kid could use some normal adolescent issues. I'll have to ask him who he's taking to Homecoming, though I have a sneaking suspicion._

"Let's go, you jackass. You need some fresh air."

I lead Emmett carefully through the crowd and out through the front doors, all the while keeping an ear on the band. The Lodge sounds awesome tonight, playing an old Interpol song I suggested for their set list and taught them last week. I'd originally had it on our own but Caius couldn't get the bass-line down. Hearing Wren rocking it now, I can't help but feel a little bitter about not being able to perform it tonight myself. The lead sounds great, though his voice is an octave or so higher than Paul Banks'. I'm almost certain I would've been able to hit the notes exactly.

There's a crash, the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, and I don't know how but I know it's _her_.

And she's there, across the crowd that seems to part in a perfect path straight to her. One hand is on her chest, the other hovering in the air where there had once been a Coca-Cola bottle - the very same bottle currently smashed on the ground beneath her, syrupy sweet soda crawling between worn cobblestones.

Like melted ice cream.

And it's like the world could be burning as I'm love-locked in this never-ending moment, and I wouldn't care.

This fucking girl, with her rose petal cheeks and sweet honey pie eyes…

She will be my undoing.

* * *

 **surprise! welcome to edward's mind. thoughts? feelings? please do let me know. a massive thank you to SunflowerFran for rec'ing me on her fb page, 'twilight fanfiction pays it forward' - i can't even begin to tell you how thankful i am. until next time. - yours, b. xx**


	5. crash

' _Sweet like candy to my soul, sweet you rock and sweet you roll,  
_ _Lost for you, I'm so lost for you_.'

'Crash Into Me' - Dave Matthews Band

* * *

There are moments... shiny, happy moments where everything feels so good and right, it takes your breath away. Where you feel as if it's a tangible entity, like you could reach out and touch it and hold it forever. Like you want to do exactly that.

This is one of those moments.

I know who he is as soon as I see him - there is absolutely no doubt in my mind.

He's Edward Cullen. He's sunshine and strawberry ice cream cones, salty-sweet beach air and soft sand between my toes. He's Green and bright, brighter than anything. And the way he smiles at me, like a secret…

He knows me, too. I know he does. I don't know how, but the crooked upturn of his pout tells me everything. His eyes widen. The hand not currently holding Emmett up comes to tug at the ends of his hair.

I want to photograph this moment and keep it in my pocket.

"Bella?"

Alice tugs on my wrist. I blink, but I can't look away. He's walking toward us now, his brother in tow and _I cannot look away_.

"Yeah, Allie?"

"Your drink."

 _Screw the drink!_ I want to shout but I can feel eyes on me, curious and confused.

"Yes."

" _Yes?_ " she snorts. "What do you mean ' _yes_ '? Don't you think we should go tell someone? There's broken glass everywhere."

He's so close now. If I take _one, two, three_ steps forward I'll be right in front of him.

We still haven't looked away. I blink, he smiles. He blinks, I lick my lips. His eyes follow the movement.

Alice shakes my arm.

"Sure," I manage, blinking rapidly, because he's here now and he's talking in low voices to Rose on the other side of the table. I can't stop staring, and I know I'm being weird. I can't stop.

Rosalie shakes her head, hands on her hips, and he's saying something to her but his eyes are on me. He's looking at my hair, my eyes, my cheeks, my nose, my shoulders. There's this infuriating, gorgeous little smirk on his lips... and it feels like I can breathe for the first time in a really, really long time.

Alice brushes my hair back behind my shoulder and leans forward, speaking directly into my ear.

"You're in the Garden of Eden, B - watch out for temptation."

I'm not sure how she knows but she just _does,_ because she's Alice. Perhaps I'm being very obvious right now, but no, I don't think I am. I think my dearest just knows me well, and I blindy reach out and place a hand on her knee and _squeeze, squeeze, squeeze._

Jesus, he still hasn't looked away. I think I'd die if he did.

"I think… I'm falling down the rabbit hole, Allie."

She squeaks and claps a hand over her mouth, and I manage a small smile because she knows exactly what that means.

Pillow forts and fairy lights, stacked up in my bedroom at night. Alice, Rose and I beneath the covers, reading from ' _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ ' by the glow of a flashlight.

' _Falling down the rabbit hole_ ,' Alice whispered, thoughtful. ' _Down the rabbit hole…_ '

' _My Mom told me that's what love is like_ ,' Rosalie mumbled, chewing on a Twizzler. ' _Falling._ '

' _Then maybe that's what we'll call it,_ ' I'd said, tracing the worn leather cover of the novel with a fingertip. ' _Instead of falling in love, we're falling down the rabbit hole._ '

' _We're falling down the rabbit hole!_ ' Alice squealed, hopping up and twirling, twirling. ' _Down, down the rabbit hole!_ '

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Alice asks, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.

I breathe a laugh through my nose and Edward furrows his brows a bit. He smiles and looks like he wants to laugh, too. It feels like we're in on some kind of joke together, and it hasn't escaped me that we haven't even said a word to each other yet.

"This is crazy," I mumble, purposely neither confirming nor denying because _do I?_ I never have before. " _Crazy._ "

Alice hums knowingly, like she's a weathered and sage old woman. I can see her head tilt from my peripheral, see her looking at Jasper.

"These things usually are, sweetest."

"Izzy-Bella!" Emmett bellows, stumbling forward and throwing an arm around my shoulder, tugging me into his chest. I can't see _him_ anymore, and my breath catches.

"Shit, Em," Rose sighs, coming over and placing one hand on his back, one on mine. She looks at me and narrows her eyes. "B… are you okay?"

I wonder what I look like right now, to make her say something like that. I know my cheeks are flushed and that I'm chewing so relentlessly on my bottom lip, I'm close to breaking skin. But she's looking into my eyes so intently, it shakes me.

"Am I squeezing you too hard?" Emmett says, glancing down at me and easing his grip a bit.

"I..."

Rosalie's hand grips my shoulder, hard.

"Where did you get it?" she hisses lowly, eyes dancing back and forth between mine. "When did you take it?"

"What?" I breathe, and Emmett stiffens and steps back, hands on my shoulders and looking at me warily. "Get what? Take _what?_ "

There's no way she's asking me this right now.

"You know what I mean," she snaps, her nails digging into my upper arm. "Your pupils are blown right the fuck up. What happened?"

I'd once read somewhere that when you look at someone or something you like, your pupils dilate. It had sounded like a bunch of rubbish, at the time. The only thing that ever blew mine up was powder.

 _Until now, I suppose._

"She hasn't taken anything," Alice whispers. "I've been with her the whole time. Honest."

"And I was with her at the bar," Emmett adds, stepping back and levelling Rosalie with a surprisingly sober glare.

I swallow. I open my mouth, close it and swallow again. The words aren't coming, my chest is tight and I can feel eyes on me - _his_ eyes on me. I want to look, I want to know if his gaze will help me breathe again but I know he's heard everything. I'm embarrassed, and my skin is prickling hot and - _Jesus,_ I'm starting to panic.

"I… I'm not…"

"Shit," Alice breathes. "Look what you've done, Rose."

I close my eyes and try to breathe - _in to the count of four, hold it, out to the count of four._ I try to remember everything Sue told me about mindful thinking.

But I can _feel_ him. I can feel his eyes, and his energy and if I focus hard enough I'm almost certain I can feel his breath and body heat.

"Maybe you should get her some water."

I did feel his breath and I did feel his heat, because he's standing beside me now, right where Emmett was.

My eyes snap open and I'm drowning in Green.

"We'll both go," Alice says, hopping off her stool and grasping one of my hands. "Come on, Edward," she adds, with a pointed look at Rose. She purses her lips and looks at me, and I can see her remorse. But I can't speak - I can't tell her it's okay, even though I want to.

Panic is rising so fast it's making me dizzy, the edges of my vision like a static television.

Alice powers through the crowd and I feel him behind me. When the tips of his fingers touch the small of my back to guide me around a thick throng of people, it feels like _so_ much more than I can comprehend.

We make it to the bar, and Liam regards us with an arched brow.

"Another Coke?" he trills, looking at me. "Have some ID for me this time?"

"Water," Edward says, knocking his knuckles on the bar top. "Please."

I keep trying to swallow but my throat is so, so dry. Alice rubs her hands up and down my shoulders.

"Do you need anything?" she asks, and I know she's talking about my pills.

I hesitate, because I don't _want_ to need them… but I think I do. So I nod, she nods and then she leans over to say something to Edward and he's nodding and looking at me. Alice departs with a small, knowing smile.

 _Damn it. Damn, damn, damn it._

I know what she's doing.

I twist my fingers, pull on them. I'm wringing my hands, eyes on my boots… until his hand is covering mine, his skin pale and fingers long. I stop and look up.

"Hello," he breathes, and his brows are pulled together but the corners of his lips twitch upward a bit, as if he wants to smile but isn't sure he should. "I'm Edward Cullen."

 _Of course he is_ \- as if there were any doubt.

"Bella Swan," I somehow manage, and his answering grin is so brilliant I feel it in my bones.

"I know."

I wince, and his brows furrow farther. If he knows about me, it's already over - whatever _this_ is. If it's anything at all.

"Oh."

"Oh?" he smiles, and Liam places a bottle of water on the bar. He grabs it, twists the top off and hands it to me. "Here, drink this."

 _Drink this. Drink me. Where's the mad hatter when you need him? I'm falling down, down, down…_

I grasp the bottle with shaky hands, taking a tentative sip. Then another, and another and I've drained a quarter of it in seconds. I wipe a drop off my bottom lip with the back of my hand, and my throat isn't dry but my body and brain are still buzzing. The panic is there, just at the edges, looking for a weak spot to attack.

When I look back at him, Edward is staring at my lips. I wipe them again and he meets my eyes.

"Better?"

"Mhm," I nod, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear and fiddling with the bottle top.

The band has moved through at least two more songs since the first, and I feel awful because instead of enjoying the music, he's here with me. The basketcase.

"Don't do that."

Whatever I was expecting him to say, it most certainly wasn't that. My shock must reflect terribly on my face, because he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Sorry, I - that sounded bad," he sighs and rubs his temple with his index and middle finger, and then he opens his eyes and I watch him silently. Everything he does is interesting and lovely. "I just meant… you look guilty."

I purse my lips, nod.

"Why?" he breathes.

"I'm just…" I shrug, and he leans closer. "I'm being a burden."

His answering grin is a little sorrowful, a little sad and a lot gorgeous.

"You're not."

I sigh out a shaky little laugh, but it's humorless.

"How would you know? You don't know me."

He swallows and for some reason, I think that's a lie. I think he does know me.

"Maybe I don't," he says, nodding. "Maybe I do."

I shake my head, taking another sip of water to stop the words from coming out.

It doesn't work.

"You know _of_ me, and trust me… that's not really me. None of it is."

"Not even the girl from Carmel?"

I gasp, and when I look at him his eyes are wide, like he hadn't meant to say it. I'm so, so glad he did.

"It _was_ you," I manage, my voice nothing more than a whisper. "You remember."

He laughs, grabbing at his hair and looking over my head, somewhere behind me.

"Am I that forgettable, sunshine-girl?"

My heart lurches, my body ignites and I'm so alive.

' _How's it going, sunshine-girl?_ '

I want to sing and laugh and maybe even dance, because knowing him feels like a new opportunity. He knew me, before, even briefly. He knew me before the drugs and before Jacob Black, before Izzy. He knew how I was _then_ and he's meeting who I am _now_ , and it's such a relief to know he might never have to know who I was in between.

"No," I say, and I want to touch him but I don't. My free hand is clenched into a fist with the effort. "You're not."

He looks at me like I'm an endless possibility, and I feel like I could be.

Alice sidles up to me, grasping my hand and tucking something into it. I open, look into my palm and see a little green pill. It makes me sick when my shoulders relax, because I don't want to need this.

I swallow it with a gulp of water, not willing to wait for it to slow-dissolve under my tongue. Alice rubs my back and I take a deep, deep breath.

"When are you guys on?" she asks, directing the question to Edward who keeps his eyes on me when he answers.

"Soon. I should probably…"

"Go," I smile, nodding toward the stage. He looks uncertain. "I'm fine."

Am I? I'm not so sure but in this moment I really, really want to be.

"Edward!"

We turn and Jasper is by the doors, waving wildly.

"We're on in five!" he calls, eyes drifting to Alice, who stiffens. I grasp her hand and she squeezes _tight, tight, tight._

Edward holds up a hand, not saying a word and I don't know why, but I love that he does that. I love that he doesn't feel the need to talk all the time, like I sometimes do. How he doesn't need to fill up the empty air with nonsense words.

"Are you staying?" he says, closer than I expected, his mouth right near my ear. I turn, and he has to lean back so our noses don't brush.

And _oh_ … I can smell him then; clean laundry and honey, lilacs and sunshine and smoke.

I swallow, then breathe him in and have to swallow again.

"I am."

"Good," he smiles."Any requests?"

I gape, my mouth opening and closing. He waits and doesn't make me feel like an idiot.

"Bella cries every time she hears 'Crash Into Me.'"

"Alice!" I cry, my cheeks flaming.

And I'm fully expecting him to make fun of me, to turn his nose up like every other boy does, to say ' _that song fucking blows_ '.

He doesn't, because he's not every other boy.

His smirk is almost painful to look at, the way it lights his eyes and the little splashes of pink running down his cheeks make me feel like I'm spinning. He's flushed from the heat or he's blushing, but either way...

He has that look again, like he knows a really juicy secret.

"I'll keep that in mind."

He backs away, and I hold up a hand in a little half-wave.

"Break a leg, sunshine-boy," I call, and he laughs and turns and sinks back into the throng.

"Oh, bother…" Alice sighs, and when I look at her she's staring straight ahead. " _Down, down, down_ we go."

* * *

Rosalie is all apologies when we come back out a few minutes later. She fusses over me, smoothing down my hair, sitting me on a stool and rubbing my arms. She's always said she wants to be a Mom and in moments like this, I know - despite everything - she'll be the best ever.

Emmett apologies for ' _assaulting me_ ' and I think I surprise everyone - including myself - by hugging him so tightly, he accuses me of popping his rib. He laughs, though, and I laugh too. When he slings one heavy arm over my shoulder and the other over Rose's, I marvel... because this is so, so easy. Easier than it's ever been before.

The first band finishes, and though I haven't heard much of their set the crowd seems to have really enjoyed it. The vibe changes, though, once Edward and Jasper hop on stage to set up their gear.

"Oh my God," a girl to my left groans. "He's so fucking hot, I just want to bite him."

Alice stiffens, I sink into my seat, Rosalie arches a brow and Emmett sputters.

I don't think I want to know which ' _he_ ' she's talking about.

"Well," Emmett says, clearing his throat. "That was unsettling."

Jasper leans into Edward to say something as they unravel amp cords, and he throws his head back in response, his laughter loud and cheeks flushed. My stomach takes a nose dive to the soles of my shoes, and I almost want to squeal: _you're so freaking cute!_

I purse my lips and sip my water, and say nothing at all.

He looks at me often - raking a hand through his hair and gazing up from between his lashes at me as he plugs in his guitar pedals; from the side of his eye as he adjusts a mic stand; after a girl at the front of the stage calls his name, he leans down and listens to her and licks his lips as he regards me carefully.

I feel like I'm imploding from the inside out, like I'm a bomb with a very fast approaching detonation. It's warm, but I'm warmer than most and I can feel my flush as it spreads down to my chest.

"You good, B?" Rose asks, noticing it too. "Do you need more water? I can grab some ice for you?"

"I'm fine. It's just… nothing. I'm good."

She narrows her eyes and opens her mouth - to call me out, no doubt - but there's a bit of feedback over the speakers, a throat clears, and all eyes are on the stage.

The crowd begins to cheer and in the blue-bright dusk of the night, Jasper's blonde hair looks almost indigo blue. The band is lit by warm butter-yellow fairy lights, and I wonder briefly if they planned it this way because it's all perfect.

"Hello," Jasper says into his mic on the left side of the stage. "Good evening, we're glad you could make it out tonight."

More cheering. I ditch my water bottle on the table and clap, and Emmett whistles with his fingers.

"We're… well, we don't really have a name yet, as most of you know," he chuckles, and a small murmur of laughter runs through the crowd. "So, I'll introduce each of us. That'll just have to suffice for now."

Cheering, and a burst of giggles somewhere to the right of the stage.

"My name is Jasper, and I'll be your humble rhythm guitarist for this evening. Just behind me here are Taylor and Wren from The Lodge, who will be filling in drums and bass for us tonight. And on the other side of the stage…"

A wave of sound builds, cat-calls and screams.

"The ever-dashing Edward, on lead guitar and vocals."

Edward smiles, crooked and shy and gorgeous, and holds a hand up as he slings a wine red Les Paul over his head. My breath catches and I blink hard.

"What's up, Izzy-B?" Emmett asks, his voice raised to be heard.

"Do you…" I start, and then need to take a second to breathe because _there's just no way_. "Do you happen to know what kind of guitar your brother owns?"

"No idea," he shrugs. "But I do know it cost a small fortune. He won't let anyone touch the damn thing."

I'm sure it did, and I don't blame him... because if my suspicions are correct, Edward is playing a genuine Gibson Les Paul 'Lucy' - only one-hundred models ever made and at my estimation, a ten-thousand-dollar instrument. A near-perfect recreation of Eric Clapton and George Harrison's infamous shared guitar.

Jasper continues to intro the band and Edward bends, strumming a C-chord, then a G, a D and an E-Major. He puts his pick - bright red - between his lips as he adjusts his tuning pegs, picking the strings with his thumb.

He looks at me, plucking the pick from his mouth, and smiles.

I smile back, my heart _racing, racing, racing_ \- and it must look pretty strange, because he furrows his brows a bit and mouths to me:

' _You okay?'_

I take a deep breath and nod back, twisting my hair off my flushed neck and over a shoulder. He follows my movements, wetting his bottom lip slowly. He blinks once, then turns his attention back to Jasper.

"We hope you enjoy the show," Jazz says, voice way down low as he wiggles his brows and backs away from the mic, adjusting his acoustic against his chest.

He counts in as the drummer clicks his sticks and they slam into the first song of the night, Edward strumming in the first bars of solo guitar.

' _Sucker love is heaven sent, you pucker up our passion's spent_ …'

Jasper's voice is clear and a little gravelly, an octave or so deeper than the original but a perfect fit with the distorted guitars and steady-fast beats of Placebo's 'Every You, Every Me'. Alice gasps, fingers finding mine under the table and squeezing.

Though Jasper is the one singing lead, Edward commands equal attention - tall and lean, his brow furrowed, he keeps his eyes on his instrument and I can't keep my eyes off of him. When he finally looks up, it's during the third verse. His eyes scan the crowd, the corner of his lip twitching upward as he takes in their rapt attention and bobbing heads.

He looks at me. I mouth the words, and his answering grin is full and wide as he laughs a bit, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

' _Sucker love is known to swing, prone to cling and waste these things. Pucker up for heaven's sake, there's never been so much at stake…_ '

They move into the next song without much pause, and the change in tone is so abrupt, I can't help but gasp. I recognize it immediately.

 _God, please let it be Edward, please let it be Edward…_

Edward steps up, and when he begins to sing it's like warm honey and liquid velvet, low and smooth and silken. His lips wrap around the words, mouth close to the mic, eyes closed as he croons 'I Wanna Be Adored' by The Stone Roses like nothing I've ever heard before.

I feel him in my bones as he sings, ' _he's already in me_ '. I have to cross my legs _so, so tight_ when he sighs, ' _I don't have to sell my soul_ '.

It's not until the last refrain, when the guitars are overlapping each other and he's nearly growling, ' _I want to, I want to, I want to be adored_ ' he opens his eyes.

Green, bright green pierces and holds me in place. When the final notes are hanging in the air, I realize my chest is heaving in time with his - deep breaths as we stare at each other above the crowd.

The energy in the courtyard is immense, the audience transfixed. I understand, now, the mass female hysteria - because one thing becomes so glaringly, abundantly clear...

Edward Cullen performs like he's making love to the music.

Jasper ditches his acoustic, hanging off his mic as he swings easily into a flawless rendition of 'About a Girl', dipping through the Nirvana tune with ease. Edward provides the airy background vocals and keeps his guitar dirty, distorted and raw, slamming into the solo and making it look easy. He switches and dons a daisy yellow Mustang for The Pixies' 'Hey', his groovy lead the perfect way to get the crowd moving as Jazz whines and screams his way through the chorus.

There's a brief intermission whilst Edward turns and motions his hands a bit, instructing the band. Jasper nods as he swings his acoustic back on.

Edward bends, strumming a loose C-chord a few times, looking back as Jazz throws him a thumbs-up before stepping to the mic.

"Um… hello."

Shrieking and cat-calling, along with a healthy amount of applause greets him. His breathy laugh carries over the speakers and he rubs the back of his neck.

"Uh, this is a last-minute addition to the setlist for a… a friend. I hope she knows the title of this one, otherwise it's a total bust. Enjoy."

As they begin to play I have to laugh, because it's undoubtedly 'Don't Panic' by Coldplay. As if he's heard me Edward's head snaps up, eyes finding mine. I shake my head and mouth ' _perfect_ ' back to him and pray he sees it, because it is and he is. His voice is magic, wrapping around the melody with ease, breaking in all the right places and it's so light and tender my heart aches.

' _We live in a beautiful world. Yeah we do, yeah we do…_ '

The set continues and I'm so entranced by everything he does, so on his every wavelength. When he breathes, I breathe. When he sighs, I sigh. When he wails, my lungs squeeze. I can't tear my gaze away.

"Well, ladies and gents… we've come to the last song of the night."

The crowd groans at Jasper's declaration, and a rousing chant of ' _encore!_ ' begins.

Jazz laughs and glances back at Edward, who purses his lips and… looks at me? Like he's looking for an answer. And I'm not sure what he wants it to be, so I school my expression into something as neutral as I possibly can.

He turns back to Jasper and subtly shakes his head _no_.

"Sorry, folks, no can do."

Alice leans toward me, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

"What the fuck was that?" she hisses, and I shake my head and shrug because, yeah - what _was_ that?

I look around, hoping to God no one noticed and is blaming me. All eyes on the stage, I breathe a sigh of relief.

"If you like what you've seen here and want to catch us again, we'll be at The Six on October 1st. Until then, have a safe night… and to help control the pet population, have your pets spayed and neutered."

Our table is by far the loudest when the crowd dissolves into laughter, with Alice giggling into her hands, Rosalie shaking her head as she chuckles, Emmett bent over with a hand on my shoulder and me with my arms wrapped around my middle.

I'm still wiping a few stray tears when Edward steps up. My tummy flutters - really, truly flutters - and this entire night has been such a massive coincidence, a cosmic turn of fate, that I shouldn't really be surprised by what happens next.

An unmistakable chord progression, and the crowd erupts.

Edward's voice is achingly good, all smooth with just enough rough around the edges, eyes closed as he leans forward and sings.

' _You've got your ball, you got your chain. Tied to me tight, tie me up again_ …'

I'm not sure when I decided to move but before I know it I'm on my feet, shouldering through the crowd as fast as I can. Somewhere deep in my mind I register perturbed, indignant voices as I swiftly step in front of them - all murmured insults and heavy sighs.

I don't care, I just don't _fucking_ care because Edward is watching me and his brows are pulled together, and then they're not. He's smirking, grinning and by the time I'm standing on the ground in front of him, looking up, he's a full-on smile - bright white teeth, dancing eyes and so handsome, it's hard to look at him.

' _Sweet like candy to my soul, sweet you rock and sweet you roll. Lost for you, I'm so lost for you..._ '

I rest my hands atop the speaker at the front of the stage and feel his voice, looking on as he watches me right back. But no, it's not as simple as that. He's not just watching me, he's _seeing_ me.

His voice breaks around a little laugh, and when he shakes his head and glances away and bites his lip, I laugh too.

' _I'm bare-boned and crazy for you,_ ' he croons. I mouth the words along with him. His voice is vibrating through the speakers into my fingertips, my arms, my entire fucking body.

I think I feel him in my soul, and it's scary and exhilarating. Mostly scary.

The last note hangs in the air. When Jasper steps up and says ' _thank you_ ' into the mic, it's like I'm miles away.

Edward takes his guitar off, resting it on a stand just behind him and crouches, his weight on the balls of his feet. I lean forward. He holds my face and it's not until his thumbs brush under my eyes that I realize I'm crying. One of his hands rests gently on the back of my head as he pulls us closer together.

He speaks into my ear, warm breath tickling my skin.

"You're everything, baby," he says and my heart _beat, beat, beats_ in double time.

I know he doesn't hear it all, but I do - girls, voices shrill and tight, asking who I am; a growing din calling his name over and over. The crowd pulses and roars for him.

I pull back. I can see summertime in his eyes and and sweet candy in his smile, and I know… I want to kiss him.

But I step away instead. His grin falters. I bite my lip around a smirk of my own and take his left hand in both of mine, feeling the small calluses on the tips of his fingers.

"Come find me," I say.

He holds on to me as long as he can as I back into the throng, and when all that's touching is the tips of our fingers… only then do I let him go.

* * *

"Who even are you?" is the first thing Alice says to me when I make it back to our table.

"I'm not so sure I know anymore," is my response. I fan my face with both hands, looking around. "Where is everyone?"

Alice purses her lips, but I can see the little smile she's trying to hide.

"I told them to get us some more drinks. I didn't think you'd enjoy the third degree from Rose just yet."

I wrap my arms around Alice's waist, resting my head on her shoulder. She squeezes me back even tighter.

"Thank you, dearest."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm not sure how much deflecting I can do once we're trapped in a moving vehicle with her for an hour."

I grimace and am about to respond when I feel a hand - large, and decidedly not Alice's - on the small of my back. I jump and turn.

Edward keeps his hand on my waist, the other holding out an opened bottle of Coca-Cola complete with a red-striped straw. He shakes it a bit, side to side, and arches a brow. I take it, biting the tip of the straw between my front teeth before looking down and taking a sip.

"It's hot in here," he says, lips right at my ear. "Would you like to get some air?"

I'd like to get much more than air, but I just nod. He smiles, his eyes looking somehow darker than before.

I turn to Alice.

"Can you…"

"Say no more, B," she says, planting a quick kiss on my overheated cheek.

"Are you going to be okay here… by yourself?"

Edward's fingertips trail down my arm slowly, softly until he's jostling my hand to get my attention and threading our fingers together. My breath falters. I look at him, but he's looking out across the crowd. I follow his eyes and see Jasper, rapidly approaching like a madman on a mission.

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Edward mumbles.

Alice's eyes are wide, her back a little straighter than normal. I squeeze her knee. She nods, her smile tight and I let Edward lead me to the front doors.

He doesn't let go, even after we're up the stairs and just around the corner. He leans back against the side of the building, propping one Doc-clad food flat against the wall. He pulls me and I step forward, both hands wrapped around the Coke bottle. I hear him breathe out a laugh. His bent knee knocks against the outside of my thigh.

"Hey, look at me."

I only manage as far as the neckline of his tee.

"Don't do that. Bella, _look_ at me."

I do. His eyes are blazing, his expression a little pinched as he looks between my eyes. He seems confused, maybe a bit wary.

I chew on the end of my straw and his eyes snap down, watching my movements. I don't stop even though I want to, because this is a nervous habit of mine and _fuck, am I ever nervous._

Edward reaches out, pulling the bottle from my grip and bending to place it on the ground. When he straightens, he grasps both my hands in his, running his thumbs along the backs gently, gently. His eyes follow his ministrations for a second before they close.

He tilts his head back against the wall, breathing out a sigh.

"This is crazy."

I smile, just a small one because _didn't I say the same thing?_

"I've never… this has never…" he opens his eyes, looking at me head-on. Edward squeezes my hands a little tighter. "Do you feel it, too?"

The breath I inhale is shaky, but my chest expands and welcomes the deep gulp I take because _thank God_ … it isn't just me.

I nod. His shoulders relax, and I hadn't even realized he was so tense. He brings my hands up to his mouth, planting a quick kiss to the back of each - like it's so easy, like it's something he does all the time and it makes me smile even wider - and reaches into his back pocket. He produces a pack of smokes.

I raise an eyebrow.

He looks up, eyes wide, a cig hanging from the side of his mouth.

"What?" he breathes, stilling, a red lighter in one hand.

"Marlboros? I pegged you as more of a Camel man."

Edward is silent for a breath and I run the sentence back through my mind, wondering whether it's possible I've offended him. He laughs, lighting the cig quickly and expertly, pocketing his lighter.

Then he does something so singular to him, I just know I'll never, ever see another do it quite like that again...

Both hands come up, tangling in his hair as he shoves it backward, long fingers getting caught up and twisted in the bronze-brown strands. His lips quirk up, green eyes shining as he looks at me.

I'm obsessed with him.

"You're not disgusted by it?" he asks, pulling the cig from his mouth. Holding it between his index and middle finger, Edward scratches his brow with his thumb of the same hand. He blows out a puff of smoke and we watch each other behind the thin film of grey. He licks his lips.

"Usually, yes," I breathe, taking the teeniest, tiniest step forward. He notices and his free hand darts out, softly wrapping around my waist and pulling me ever closer. He shifts, bouncing a bit with one shoe still against the wall, widening his stance to accommodate me. "But not with you."

"Not with me?"

"No."

"Hmm," Edward hums, placing the smoke between his lips again.

He reaches out, flicking my hair behind my shoulders, tucking loose strands behind my ears. He rests his hands on my waist lightly and I have the strange urge to tell him: _tighter! Hold me tighter!_

Edward sighs, his eyes taking in every inch of my face.

"Christ... you're so fucking pretty."

I want to ask him if he's drunk, because that's exactly the sort of thing drunk guys will tell you. ' _Hey there, little lady. Wow, you're a pretty thing, aren't you? Want to come back to my place? We can have some fun..._ '

I don't because he's not, and because I just _know_ that's not what he's looking for from me. I know that's just him, his honesty, so I smile and grip the bottom hem of his t-shirt in both my hands, fisting it a bit. Edward looks down at my movements, and his lips quirk up in a gorgeous little crooked grin that has my breath catching.

"So are you," I say, grinning widely, and that breaks him. He plucks the cig from between his lips and laughs, deep and full, tilting his head back with his eyes closed. His hold on me tightens just a fraction and my blood thrills.

"I'd have preferred ' _handsome_ ' but hey, I'll take what I can get."

When he meets my eyes again, his are dancing.

"Green," I say.

Edward arches a brow and then playfully narrows his eyes, squinting, bringing his face closer to mine and studying my irises intently.

"Brown," he says decisively, and I can't stop the little snort that comes out. His smile grows. "So, she's a snorter? Good to know."

"Hush," I laugh, half-heartedly slapping his bicep and then just letting it… stay there, because I know I'm not imagining it when I feel his skin break out in goosebumps at the contact. "Listen to me… you're _Green_. You're him. For so long, I wondered if I'd made you up. Those summers sometimes feel like a fever dream…"

He takes a deep drag and when he lets it out it's with this maddening, tummy-turning little noise that comes from deep in his chest… like a warm hum. I desperately want to know what to say to make him do it again.

"I know, baby. I can't believe… you don't know how long I've wondered about you."

 _Baby._

That's the second time he's said it now, and I want to hear him say it a million more. I've never been particularly fond of pet names, but he is such a tremendous exception. I wonder if he would say it in front of my friends, if he would use it in a text message. Would he put me under the name 'Baby' in his phone? Would he murmur it when we kiss?

Would he say it when he's inside me, his breath shaking and his voice raspy and deep… ' _baby, baby, baby_.'

I shake my head, swallowing hard because _fuck_ \- when did I start talking in ' _when's_ '?

I should know, better than most, that nothing in this life is a given… no matter how easy it may seem.

"Hey," Edward calls, his hand cupping the back of my neck. "Where'd you go?"

I clear my throat, wetting suddenly dry lips.

"Nowhere... I'm sorry."

Edward takes one last drag and then snuffs it out on the wall beside him, letting the filter end drop to the ground. He blows the smoke to the side, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.

"You're a little cold. Do you want to go back inside?"

I glance toward the doors, letting the sounds from the pub filter back to my hazy, Edward-clouded mind… the ' _clink_ ' of glasses, the beat of music pouring from the speakers, the loud cacophony of so many voices. I wrinkle my nose.

"No, not really," I say. A thought occurs to me. "If you want to get back to your… um, fans -"

"Absolutely not," he cuts in and I meet his eyes. They're focused on nothing but me, so clear and verdant and pretty. "I want nothing more than to be right here, right now, with you."

I breathe in, a slow and measured inhale, because _God, this is intense_. The most intense thing I've ever felt, and I've felt and done a _lot_. I shake my head a bit and Edward nods, his hands squeezing the top of my arms. I play again with the bottom of his shirt.

"I know. This is… a lot, isn't it?"

"Yes," I sigh, my voice barely-there. He shivers.

"I don't know how explain it without sounding crazy, without scaring you."

"Say it," I swallow. "Please."

His jaw tenses, and I want to lean forward and trail my lips along the sharp definition of it.

"God... _fuck_. I've never - it's never been this instant before. It's like I took one look at you and…"

" _Bang_ ," I breathe.

He nods. " _Bang._ "

We're both breathing hard, and I've never been so nervous before. Attraction and everything that comes along with it has always been fairly easy for me, simple. You like each other, you act on it. I'd never had a real problem with it, until Jacob. Everything about him screwed with me and what I thought intimacy should be. But this… this feels like so much more.

I study Edward's face for a long minute. He's like nothing I've ever seen before, and I can't believe I didn't remember every detail of his face from all those years ago. I take him in, his eyes and their long lashes… thick, bold brows and pale, flawless skin… his nose, not perfectly straight. Regal, but with a slight bump on the bridge. His lips, pink and full in that perfectly boyish way, where you can look and just tell he's a fantastic kisser. He's got a little scar just beside his left eyebrow, a tiny mole on his right temple.

Before I can think twice, the tips of my fingers are under his shirt and I'm pressing the pads of my fingers against the soft skin just above his waistband. He sucks in a breath, so sharp. I hold his gaze as I feel him, the defined muscles of a delicious 'v', and when I get to that little trail of hair just under his belly button… I can't help my shiver, imaging what it leads to.

He closes his eyes, swallowing hard.

"Bella…" he chokes, and I know he's going to tell me to stop. I can feel it in the way his grip on me tightens and just as suddenly loosens.

I react before I know what I'm doing.

Leaning forward, I mold my body to his, pushing my hands up further, resting against what I suspected to be there but still sends a thrill through me with what I feel - well-defined abs. My lips trail up along the smooth column of his neck, not kissing, just feeling. He makes that warm, deep humming noise again. I breathe him in, and this close I can smell more of him. The clean laundry, honey, lilacs… they're all still there. But he's a little sweeter, maybe a bit like cinnamon. An indescribable _something_ I can't put my finger on, but I know is uniquely him.

My lips brush against his ear as I speak, and his muscles beneath my hands clench and release, clench and release.

"Shh… don't say it."

"Say… _fuck_ ," Edward breathes as I wrap my arms around him and splay my hands on his back, tucking my chin into the junction between his shoulder and neck. He curls his arms around me, one hand tangling into my hair as the other wraps around my waist. He turns his face, burying his nose into my unruly locks. "Say what?"

I'm quiet for a moment, just reveling in the feeling… because really, all we're doing is hugging. It's more intense, a little more intimate, but it's a hug - the most wonderful, all-consuming, comforting, warm hug I've ever had. And I didn't know just how badly I needed it.

Tucking my face into him more, I speak against his skin. He whimpers, his lips against my temple.

"Don't say we should go inside. Don't say we should stop. I know, trust me, _I know_."

"But we should, Bella. This isn't…" he groans as I run my fingernails gently down his back. " _God,_ this is insane."

"It is," I nod, continuing my motions. I smile a bit, because I'm fucking _scratching his back_ right now and it's so strange, how normal it feels. He's right, it really _is_ insane.

"I can't be feeling this much for you. It's not possible. It's not," he moans, kissing anywhere he can - my temple, my forehead, my cheek. Everywhere but my lips.

All of this is happening and _he hasn't even kissed me on the lips yet_.

" _Shit_ ," I sigh, and he whimpers again. _Does he like it when I swear?_ "This is too much. It's just so fucking much. You've barely even touched me, and I feel like I'll explode."

He breaks away with a gasp, his hands on my shoulders and I try not to look as hurt as I feel as he holds me away from him. His eyes are squeezed shut, so tightly.

"Edward?" I whisper, pulling my hands from his skin. He groans and catches my wrists. I don't move.

"I don't know what to do," he says, eyes still closed. I want to tell him to open them, because I can't see Green and I feel like I won't breathe right until I do. "This is fucked up. I barely even know you. I don't know you, and you… you're sixteen, and you -"

"I'll be seventeen in a week."

He laughs, a little bitterly, and I furrow my brows and purse my lips and pull my wrists from his. I move to take a step back, but his eyes snap open and he grasps my hips. I stop.

"Don't."

"Stop that," I say, and I don't mean to snap but I think I do a bit. "Don't tell me what to do."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm _not_. Bella, what are you -"

I take a step back, pushing his hands away, my chest heaving a bit because _shit, I'm scared_. I can see what I'm doing but I can't fucking stop it. I want _him_ to stop me, but maybe he's right. I thought he knew me, thought he could see me but maybe he can't.

"So, we knew each other when we were kids. So what? I was ten, you were fourteen and now we've grown up. We're nothing to each other. I barely remember you. We're not even supposed to be _friends_ , you know that? Let alone anything more. Our families are fucking born and bred to despise each other."

I'm fucking lying. ' _We're nothing to each other_ ' I said, ' _I barely remember you_ ' and it's such an incredible fallacy. I wouldn't be trying to push him away if we were nothing.

Edward is breathing hard, too - his chest is heaving, and he's got one hand reached toward me, palm up. He's looking at me and his eyes are twin flames, jade fire dancing in the dusky moonlight.

"What are you doing?" he snaps. "What is this? What the _fuck_ is this, Bella?"

I cross my arms and hope to God he can't see me shaking, because something tells me he's figuring it out.

"Why are you purposely trying to hurt me?" Edward says, and his voice catches a bit. I deflate, my shoulders hunching. He takes two quick strides toward me, but I hold a hand up. He stops.

I'm fucking astounded, because when has _that_ ever happened? No man has ever listened when I told them to stop, has never halted so quickly when I refused their advances.

I swallow down the shock and awe and ever-growing intensity I'm feeling for this boy, and try to keep my voice strong.

"I'm sorry. I could…" I purse my lips, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. "I could feel you pulling away. We haven't even done anything yet, and you were making excuses for why we couldn't. And you were right, we barely even know each other."

Edward sighs, the sound full of sorrow, but I refuse to look up

"We do, and we don't. I feel like… like my heart knows you, my body knows you. My brain just has to catch up."

My answering laugh is small and a little humorless. I look up at him. He takes a slow, cautious step forward.

"I may not know you, not completely. But I see you, baby."

He takes another step closer, then another and then he's cupping my face in both hands and staring at me like I'm made of stardust.

"I see you, girl."

"Bella!"

I gasp and Edward steps back quickly, dropping his hands. The hurt I feel is undeniable and it's written clearly on my face. He looks pained as he stares me, like he wants to say something, but everyone is here and on us and loud, and I have to concentrate to make out what Rose and Alice are saying. Jasper and Emmett approach.

Emmett claps Edward on the shoulder, murmuring something in his ear.

"Slow down," I say, pressing my palms to my temples and shaking my head a bit. "What's going on?"

"It's Jacob," Rose crows, her voice frantic, eyes wide and apologetic.

My stomach turns, my skin itches and I feel a rush of nausea so intense, it makes me sway. Alice grasps my elbow.

"What?" I manage, barely a sound.

"He's coming. He called me. I don't know how the asshole got my number, but he's on his way. I don't know how long until…"

Rosalie's voice fades off, no doubt hearing the same thing I am.

Streetlights glint off the shined black and chrome of the bike as it rumbles around the corner, and the asshole even gives it a gratuitous roar of gas as he nears. Helmet-less, Jacob stops at the curb, not bothering to kill the engine of his beloved fucking Honda Shadow Spirit 1100 as he hops off.

"Isabella," he shouts over the idling engine. "What do you think you're doing?"

A shiver rockets down my spine, ricocheting off my bones and making me nearly dizzy with the unexpected fear that envelops me. I thought I had more time before I had to face him. I thought I had more fucking time and now he's here and I'm not prepared, _I'm so not prepared._

He's furious, nearly shaking with anger by the time he's just a few feet from me. I stumble backward a step, and I don't miss his grin.

"Come on, sweet thing. Didn't you miss me?"

I gasp, a hand flying to my throat. His grin widens.

"Stay the fuck away from her!" Rose growls, throwing herself in front of me. I gasp again, and gasp, and gasp because I'm trying to tell her not to provoke him. I'm trying to tell her not to bother, I'm not worth what he can do to her but I can't breathe and I can't speak.

 _Open your mouth, damn it! Say something!_

"Rosie-lee," he leers, and I flinch. Alice steps in front of me, reaching her hand back discreetly and wiggling her fingers. I grasp onto her, squeezing too tight. "What an unpleasant surprise. I knew you were behind this."

"Behind what?" she snaps.

"You're just jealous that Bella was able to drop your nasty little habit, and now you want to ruin all the work she's put in," he sighs, his tone so fucking condescending. I want to scream, to tell him, ' _you don't get to speak for me anymore!_ '

But my heart is in my throat, my breath is in my throat.

Any semblance of peace I had is shattered, because Jacob Black has barrelled through it completely.

How is it that only minutes ago, I was…

I choke, turning, searching for Edward.

When I find him, his expression is undecipherable, so many emotions crossing his face that I can't even dream to keep up. Anger, confusion, incredulity, _concern, concern, concern…_

When our gazes lock, that stands out as the most prominent. His eyes narrow and when he begins to move I want to cry, because he isn't walking away.

Edward's strides are quick and purposeful, and it seems Jasper and Emmett have followed his lead because they're stepping forward, too - Emmett beside Rosalie on her left, Jasper beside Alice on her right.

And Edward beside me.

His hand is on my back, and I hear his sharp inhale. Is it because I'm shaking, so violently my teeth are almost chattering? Because my breathing is so, so off I have no idea what normal inhales are like anymore?

"What is this?" Jacob laughs, dirty and hard, and I wince again. "You got bodyguards now, Isabella?" he calls, looking directly at me.

I purse my lips to keep from screaming. Edward brushes my hair away from my skin and cups the back of my neck, leaning down to speak only to me.

He doesn't get a chance to, because Jacob sees red.

"What the fuck?" Jacob shouts. "What the _fuck?_ "

"Jacob," Jasper snaps, holding both hands out. "Stop. You need to calm down."

"Fuck off, Hale," he spits, taking a step forward. Emmett squares his shoulders and mirrors his advance. "Who is this, Isabella? You're out of rehab for what, a day… and you're already fucking around?"

Edward tenses, and I'm going to vomit. I'm going to vomit and cry, and scream and kick and _kill_. I'm going to _kill_ Jacob for what he's doing to me, and he knows he's doing it.

Edward has no idea who I _was_. He's a fresh start, a new life and everything that could be good in my world and Jacob is ruining it.

"Stop it," I manage, my voice a weak, pitiful little cry and _I hate it, I hate it, I hate it_.

"Come off it, Izzy. Get over here, we've got to go. Your father is worried sick."

He takes another step forward.

"Jacob," Jasper pleads. "Bella came here with Rose and Alice. She has a ride home. You don't need to -"

"Like hell I do! Your _sister_ ," he sneers. "Is going to get her mixed up in all kinds of shit again, and I won't let her. Izz, come on, get the fuck over here," he sighs. "Let's go!" he shouts, and claps his hands.

Like I'm a fucking dog, something to be ordered around.

I'm so angry, so hurt, so embarrassed… I can't stop the whimper that escapes.

"Bella," Edward whispers, and I'm surprised when I hear his voice… it's so, so sad.

I look at him, but he's not even looking at me. He's looking at Jacob, tracking his every move.

"Who the fuck is this guy? Tell me now if he's important to you, because I'm about to lay him out," Edward snaps, and I know he's serious.

Fear. Cold, hard fear and overwhelming dread at the very thought of Edward anywhere nearer to Jacob than he is now. And then I know…

I grasp Edward's wrist, and he looks at me. Jacob says something else, something mean that makes Alice and Rose gasp, but my world is just one.

Just him.

Just the sunshine-boy.

"I'm going with him."

"What?" Edward growls. "Bella, no. I don't know who he is to you, but he's no fucking good. You're riding back with Rose, or… or… fuck, baby, you're riding back with me. There's no way you're going anywhere with -"

"A little louder for the people in the back, Romeo!" Jacob bellows.

"Trust me. There's no other way this can go," I groan, knowing it's true. "I'm sorry."

I step back. He steps forward, reaching toward me. I back away again, and he follows.

I hold out my hand.

He stops.

"Bella?" he breathes and my name is a question, a plea, a lament on his lips.

" _Come find me_ ," I beg, hoping to God he follows through.

The way his eyes widen, how he shakes his head in disbelief...

Doubt threatens to swallow me whole as I walk toward Jacob… doubt that Edward felt the same things I did, that after tonight he'll want anything at all to do with me. He said it himself: I'm sixteen. He barely knows me.

I take the helmet Jacob holds out but don't put it on. He purses his lips, saying nothing. I climb onto the back of his bike, reluctantly wrapping my arms around his waist.

As I look back, tendrils of hair whipping at my cheeks and neck as Jacob rumbles down the street... I choose to hope. I watch Edward step onto the road, looking for all the world like he's about to run after me... and I choose to hope.

Because the alternative is unfathomable.

My life didn't change when I touched drugs for what I can only hope is the last time, that fateful night this past summer. It didn't change when I was admitted into rehab, or when I got out.

It changed when Edward Cullen walked back into my life.

* * *

 **phew, that was a doozy. you guys still with me? i can't thank you enough for all the lovely reviews, follows and faves. i make it a point to respond to every review i get so if you have any questions, please feel free to ask. i'll do my best to answer... all spoiler-free, of course. ;)**

 **this week, 'high and dry' was featured on '** _ **the lemonade stand**_ ' **. i'm positive you all know what that is, but if you don't... well, now you do and your life is better. i've been reading and following '** _ **tls**_ ' **for years now - the majority of my favorite stories have come from their recommendations. that this little story is on there now, is just... unbelievable. endless thanks and appreciation and love to the ladies over there.**

 **at the end of each chapter, i'll consolidate songs performed/mentioned for anyone who wants to listen along. here's the first... i hope you enjoy. as always, you can catch me on twitter - i'm bellaofthebarre there, as well. until next time. xx - b**

 _ **chapter four mixtape:**_

 **track 1: placebo - every you, every me  
track 2: the stone roses - i wanna be adored  
** **track 3: nirvana - about a girl  
** **track 4: the pixies - hey  
** **track 5: coldplay - don't panic  
** **track 6: dave matthews band - crash into me**


	6. fade: part i

_"A stranger's light comes on slowly, a stranger's heart without a home..."_

'Fade Into You' - Mazzy Star

* * *

 **Then...**

" _Izzy… hey, Izzy. Wake up, sweet thing."_

 _Blue low-light and ice in the air, the kind that chills you straight to the bone. Smooth, silken sheets against skin that feels like flesh rubbed-raw. Rough hands grab, twist, turn. I am a rag-doll, too drug-tired to fight it... any of it, all of it._

" _You gotta get up… hey, Izzy?"_

 _Head like a lead weight, body like a stone. I ache and ache and ache all over - bruised, from the inside out. When he shakes me, I wince and whine and wish I'd die._

" _Fuck... fuck! Isabella? Shit!"_

 _Voices, voices, too many voices. Plug my ears to stop it all. I wish I were dead, I wish I were dead…_

" _Someone call 911! Izz, you've got to wake up. Come on, now…"_

" _Bella? Oh my God, what happened? Fuck, B - wake up! Don't do this!"_

 _I'm turning again… turning and spinning; shivering, quaking and aching. The world flips upside down. Something sour and acrid in my mouth, tears in my eyes. I can't breathe around it, thank God. Thank God, I'll stop breathing and it'll all be over._

" _That's it, honey. Let it out, you're okay. You're okay… fuck, Jacob, there's blood."_

" _What?"_

" _In her puke, there's blood. Oh God, oh_ God…"

" _Calm down, would you? Shit. This is all your fault, you fucking bitch!"_

 _I'm alive and it burns, it burns - oh, it burns. I'm still here, it's not over. When will it stop?_

" _What? Bella, did you say something? Shh, don't - you're going to choke. Oh, God…"_

" _Can you open your eyes? Izzy, open your eyes. Come on, wake up. Wake up!"_

* * *

 **Now...**

"Hey!"

Porch lights in sight, I don't hesitate for a second and keep trudging forward. The rumble of the engine cuts off, and I hasten.

"Isabella, stop."

Almost there, almost there. Just a few more…

"Would you fucking stop?"

Jacob grabs my wrist and I gasp - flying back, his arms traps me faster than I can blink. I reach up, tugging at his forearm as it squeezes across my collarbones.

"Let me go."

He laughs, low and so, so close to my ear - too close. His breath is warm and wet and smells of moonshine, and I struggle in his grasp. I can feel his voice vibrating against my back, can feel the panic rising from so deep within me, I can't even begin to find the source. It's everywhere, all at once.

"I'm offended," he says. "Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

"Because I didn't want you to know."

His grip holds strong. I eye the front door, wondering if I'll be quick enough to kick him away and make it inside before he catches me.

"Bit rude, Izzy. You missed me."

It's not a question. It never is with Jacob. What he says goes.

"I didn't."

"Ouch. Wrong answer. You did, I can tell…"

His hand rests on my thigh, just under the bottom hem of my dress. I clench my teeth and _breathe, breathe, breathe._

"There can't have been much tail available in that little retreat, huh? I bet you were wishing I was there every day."

Bile rises, quick and fast, and I'm swallowing and clenching my teeth and staring at the door, willing Charlie to come out.

 _Come see this, Dad! You've always thought Jacob was the best. Come see what he's like when we're alone. Come see what I've been trying to tell you._

"You need to let me go, Jacob."

"Like hell I will," he growls, spinning me, arms around my waist. I'm trapped, looking up at this man - this boy - I thought I once knew.

His hair is shorter, clean-cropped and fresh, styled back with pomade. His shirt is faux grunge-chic, fashionably distressed, as are his jeans and leather jacket. Pristine black motorcycle boots. Most people would look at Jacob Black and call him handsome - dashing, sophisticated. They would say almost anything, though, to get into the pants of a multi-millionaire's son.

He's disgusting and fake, and I tell him so.

"Me? Fake?" he laughs, fingers digging into my flesh. "Sweet thing, I'm exactly what you wanted. Remember?"

I do, and I don't. I remember his advances, I remember making excuses. I remember, ' _Jake, you're just not my type_ ' and ' _you're like my brother_!' I remember going on a couple of dates with perfectly primped and preened Orange County boys because ' _he's so and so's son_ ' or ' _I'm just about to close a deal with his mother_ ', and his sour face when I relayed everything to him.

I can recall wanting to let him down easy, being nervous to hurt his feelings. That was a different Jacob - with long hair and old, holey jeans; grease stains on his cheeks.

"You're not. You're a stranger to me now, Jacob."

"Quit calling me that," he snaps, and I flinch. I always fucking flinch. "I'm just Jake to you."

Actually, you haven't been 'just Jake' for a long time. You've been a lot of things to me over the last little while, but not that. 'Just Jake' died a long, long time ago. I mourned for him, mourned the goofy-silly grin and easy laughter of the boy who stood by my side at mandatory company events. I mourned the one who made the best grilled cheese sandwiches and the worst fried eggs, who respected my boundaries and knocked before coming into my room.

"Izzy," Jacob sighs, and everything about him softens so suddenly, I'm stuck-still. He doesn't look like a stranger anymore. "I know we haven't been on the best of terms…"

"That's a pretty gigantic understatement," I bite out before I can stop myself.

His eyes harden for the briefest of moments before he schools his expression.

"All I want… all I've ever wanted is just to be good enough for you. Don't you get that?"

I grit my teeth. "Don't blame this on me. I didn't ask you to change."

"I didn't change, I matured. I'm not that stupid little boy, rolling around in engine grease anymore. I'm better," Jacob insists, shaking me. I clench my jaw. "I'm better, for _you_. Can't you see?"

"Bella?"

I turn, my chest heavy, and Jacob's arms drop.

Charlie stands at the front door, starched white oxford tucked into slacks, hands on his hips.

There's the strange urge to run to him, hug him and tell him everything - _everything_.

But then he speaks.

"Do you mind explaining to me… just what the _hell_ you thought you were doing tonight?"

I want to fucking cry. I want to drop to the ground beneath me and pound my fists into the cement until they're bloody and bent, and scream and kick and wail. I want to tell the whole world that _it's not fair! It's not fair! None of this is fair!_

But I bite my lip. I straighten my back. I hold my breath and take quick, purposeful strides right past my father.

He grabs hold of my wrist as I pass, and I twist it free.

"Isabella Marie!"

One hand on the bannister, halfway up the stairs, I halt.

"If you think you're going to just walk away without an explanation - "

"I don't have one," I sigh, barely keeping a strained hold on my rapidly rising panic. The world is starting to shift and sway, my skin overheating. My palms are sweaty, slick-slipping on the polished wood beneath my weak grip.

"Excuse me?"

I turn, eyes narrowed. My father stands, arms crossed, beneath the grandiose chandelier; Jacob behind him, the slyest little grin twisting his face.

"I don't have any excuses. I know what I did."

"You…" my father sputters, his face turning red. "You don't… I…"

"I told you, Charlie. I knew she'd be like this."

My eyes snap to Jacob, and if I weren't about to collapse with the weight of my rapidly deteriorating world on my shoulders, my glare would be hot, hot heat. As it is, his only response to my weak attempt is to chuckle.

"Are you drunk, Isabella?" my father says, and I gasp.

"What?"

"Did you drink tonight? You know what I'll have to do if you did…"

 _You'll call Sue, who will call Dr. Denali, who will have someone here tonight to take me back to Malibu. I know the drill, Daddy-O._

"I didn't," I manage, grinding my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. The room is spinning, and it'll be a merciful miracle if I pass out before I vomit.

"Well, I for one don't believe her," Jacob says, holding a hand to his chest.

 _No one asked for your opinion!_ I want to shout.

"I had two sodas and a bottle of water," I snap, my breathing shaky. "Speaking of which - if you'll excuse me, I have to empty my bladder. Unless… would you like Jacob to accompany me? Make sure I don't snort something in the bathroom?"

"That's _enough_ , Isabella!" Charlie snaps. "Go upstairs. I can't… I just can't deal you right now."

I grin, because isn't this what I wanted? I knew if I pushed him just enough, he'd send me away.

But God, truer words have never been spoken - he can't deal with me now, and not ever.

I spin and take quick steps, double-time, stumbling at the top in my haste. I've just made it, hand on the door to shove it closed when there's a _bang_.

Jacob's hand connects with the white wood, the muscles of his forearms straining.

"Get the fuck out," I whisper, gripping the edge of the door.

"Aw, come on. Let me in," he says, and when he grins and trails his eyes over my body, I want to be anywhere but in my own skin. "We'll have a little bit of fun. We're both angry... it'll be so hot, sweet thing. We're fucking smokin' together..."

"The only smoke in this situation is what you're blowing up your own ass," I snap, my voice shaking. "Get out of my fucking sight, Jacob, before I scream."

"Fat lot of good that would do you… you know Daddy wouldn't do a thing. He's our number one fan, Izzy."

"Jacob?"

We both straighten, my father's voice drifting up from downstairs and carrying down the hall.

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"Your Dad's on the phone. He's wondering when you'll be home."

Jacob hesitates, hand slipping from the door. I take my opportunity, slamming it closed and locking it with shaking fingers.

"Damn it! Izzy, open up. Open the door, come _on_!"

I back into the darkened room, hands over my ears, palms pressed so, so tight. I can still hear him.

"Let me in, Isabella!"

Panic threatens to steal my breath and swallow me whole when I realize my pills are in Rosalie's car.

I shuffle back until I hit my bed and drop, leaning against my headboard and pulling a pillow over my ears. I keep it there until I hear his bike start up, hear him roaring down the driveway.

And then I pull the pillow around, bury my face into soft cotton and scream.

I scream until my throat is raw, until it feels like I've swallowed shards of glass, until the only sound left is a pitiful little whine.

I don't stop until I've fallen asleep.

* * *

Charlie is just leaving when I pad into the kitchen the next morning, the rumble of his gaudy Jaguar as it pulls out of the garage shaking the whole house. Clara sits at the island, snacking on a piece of fruit and reading the morning paper.

"Isabella!" she smiles, brown eyes kind and gentle. "My dear, I'm sorry I missed you yesterday morning. How have you been?"

She stands before me, hands on my arms, but doesn't hug me. Clara has been with us for as long as I can remember, and I cherish her as if she were family… but she's never agreed with how I've lived my life. The matriarch of a staunchly religious Italian family, from a generation where sleeping in the same bed as your spouse was a no-no, I've caught her murmuring about me over her ever-present rosary more than once.

She thinks I'm dirty, tainted. That I've spoiled my body with the things I've done.

I'm inclined to agree with her. So, when she doesn't pull me into a hug, I'm not sad. I just smile back, small and tight and insincere, and ignore the way she stares at the mascara smudges and tear tracks under my eyes.

"I'm fine, Clara. How are you?"

She gasps, a hand to her throat.

"Your voice! What happened, dear?"

Clara is already moving, pulling out pots and mugs. Honey, a fresh lemon and chamomile tea on the counter top, she goes to work.

"I'm not - "

"Don't speak!" she urges, pointing her knife at me good-naturedly. "You'll just make it worse."

"But you asked - "

"Ah, ah! What did I say?"

I hop onto her vacated stool, miming zipping up my lips and throwing away the key. Clara hums as she prepares my drink, placing a bowl of oatmeal in front of me and a plate of fresh fruit. I'm about to ask her for the brown sugar when she slides the glass jar toward me.

My smile is a little more genuine this time.

I've got three bites of breakfast and half the mug of tea down, swallowing around the rough ache of my throat, when a chiming sound calls from the intercom beside the back door.

Clara furrows her brows, wiping her hands on a cloth and pushing a button to connect the call.

"Swan Residence?"

"It's Rose."

I drop my spoon into the bowl with a clatter, eyes wide.

"And Alice!" comes a high voice, faint and in the background.

Clara purses her lips, one finger hovering above the button to open the gates, and looks at me.

I press my hands together, the universal sign for prayer, and mouth ' _please_ ' over and over.

With a sigh, a shake of her head and a barely-concealed grimace, Clara presses the button. I'm up and out of my seat in a flash, my thin cotton robe flying behind me. I'm skidding on hardwood floors and clinging to corners as I make my way to the front door, throwing it open.

Alice's mint green Mini Cooper convertible comes to a quick stop at the top of the driveway, and Rosalie emerges from the driver's side with wide eyes and wet cheeks. Alice throws open the passenger door, nearly falling over in her haste, and when I catch her in my arms I don't miss the dampness of her face, too.

"Oh, Bella," she cries, thin arms squeezing my waist until it's painful, but I don't tell her to let go. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I choke, voice breaking, swallowing and trying again. "It's okay."

"What happened?" Rosalie sighs, tucking me under her arm and smoothing my hair down. "You sound… what did that bastard do?"

I shake my head, curling in closer.

"We didn't help you, Bella. We just let you go," Alice sobs into my neck.

"I didn't know he was coming until I checked my voicemail after the show," Rosalie bites, roughly wiping away tears from her porcelain face. "If I had just looked. If I had fucking _looked_ …"

"Not your fault," I rasp, wincing as I squeak my way through the words. "Mine. Should've known. Charlie sent him."

"What's wrong with your voice?" Alice sniffs, pulling back and placing a cold hand to my throat.

"I…"

How to tell them I shouted and cried into my pillow until I was too tired to fight my exhaustion? How to say I screamed and screamed until I just couldn't anymore?

"It doesn't matter," Rosalie interrupts and I'm so, so grateful when I meet her eyes. She looks at me and frowns and I know she knows. "We have your phone and your… your bag."

My breath catches, and my spine straightens.

"Do you… _need_ anything right now?" Alice whispers, wary.

I hate that I have to stop and consider it but eventually, I shake my head. No, I don't need it, but it's good to know it's there if - no, _when_ \- I do.

A thought occurs to me.

"School?" I breathe, tapping my wrist, worrying about the time.

"There's so fucking way you're going to that hell-hole today. Alice and I are ditching, too. We can do a girl's day - face masks, shitty daytime TV and Thai takeout," Rosalie insists, already backing into the house. "And I won't take no for an answer. It's been ages since I've caught up on my 'Y&R'."

I snort and Alice giggles as we watch Rosalie strut toward the TV room.

There's a tug on my hand, and I look down. Alice is shifting her feet, reaching into her shoulder bag for something. When she places my phone in my hand, her expression is pure trepidation.

"He's waiting for you to call him."

My head snaps up, eyes wide. I don't have to ask who she's talking about. I already know.

"What…" I begin.

She presses the side button, illuminating the screen.

I gasp, swallowing roughly.

Five missed calls, three text messages. All from 'Edward'.

"You should really be more creative with your passcodes, B," Alice says, trying for a joke, her voice shaky. "It's not hard to figure out that 7-9-2-6 spells 'Swan'."

"How…"

"Edward was going insane last night after you left. I don't know what you said to him, but…"

I inhale sharply, closing my eyes tight against the memory.

"He wanted to follow you. Emmett had to hold him back from hopping in his car and peeling out of there like some kind of action hero. He had no idea how to get a hold of you. When I found your phone in Rose's car later that night, I just knew," she says. "I had to help you. Both of you."

I swallow down the sob stuck in the back of my throat and hold Alice so, so tight, whispering broken ' _thank you_ 's into her shoulder. She pulls away first, swiping at her tears with the sleeves of a cream cashmere sweater.

"Go, go. I'll tell Rose you're taking a bath," Alice says, smiling a tiny, watery grin. "A very, _very_ long bath."

I kiss her cheek, pulling her oxblood red beret a little further down.

"You're an angel, Mary Alice Brandon."

* * *

The cool porcelain of the empty tub makes me shiver, curling my toes as I sink down, wrapping my robe tighter around myself and shrinking up as tightly as I can.

My phone feels like a brick, heavy with possibility and weighty with consequence. I unlock and let it re-lock itself three times before I finally give in, impatiently scrolling to my messages. I take in his words with greedy abandon. One after the other, I read and reread, then read again.

The first, at 10:05pm:

 **I asked Alice if she could bring your phone to you tonight. I have no idea what happened earlier... Call me?**

Another, at 1:32am:

 **If there's something stopping you from calling, let me know. Say the word and I'll come get you.**

The last text, at 3:43am:

 **I'm losing my fucking head here, Bella. Please be okay.**

With shaking fingers, I tap the 'Call' button and bring the phone to my ear.

It rings twice before he picks up.

"Bella?"

I catch my breath, closing my eyes. For some reason... when I woke up this morning, I wasn't entirely convinced he was real. The sound of his voice, all relief and barely-concealed trepidation, shakes me to my very core.

He's real. He's real and alive, and out there in the world. Every part of me rejoices.

"I…"

"Are you okay? What happened last night?"

I press the phone harder, harder to my ear, straining to hear any little thing I can. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and make my world this moment, only this moment.

Something like bed sheets rustling, his quick breaths and a muttered curse.

"Edward," I rasp, swallowing hard. He gasps.

" _Fuck_ , your voice… what did he do to you?" he chokes. "I'm going to fucking… I don't even…"

"Stop," I cry, the palm of my free hand pressed against my chest, over my heart. I feel it as it beats, wild and crazy for him, beneath my ribs. "It was me. I… I was angry. Into a pillow."

"I don't understand. A _pillow_?"

"Yes."

A long pause, and I wonder if I should elaborate. I wonder if I even want him to know the depth of it all.

He inhales, so shaky-soft.

"Oh, Bella," he laments, and his sorrow… I want to take it all back so he'd never have to know. "You screamed into your pillow?"

" _Yes_ ," I breathe, a broken sob - nodding, knowing he can't see it.

"For how long?"

I don't speak for a moment, wiping away tears and resting my forehead against cool porcelain.

"Until I… I couldn't anymore."

" _God_ ," he groans. "Bella, you have to know - I tried. I begged Alice to tell me where you live, but she wouldn't. She said you have a gate... that even if I did go, your father wouldn't let me in."

He sniffs, and I want to take everything back. I'm disgusted by myself. How dare I dump all my messed-up crazy on him?

 _Yes, how fucking dare you. Look what you've done. He would be so much better off not knowing you._

"'Come find me,'" he whispers, and I shiver. "That's what you said. ' _Come find me_.' I've never… I've never felt so helpless in my life."

"I'm sorry," I rasp. "So, so sorry…"

"Shh, you don't need to say anything," Edward soothes. I can hear his breathing, deep and slow, and I try to mimic it. "Just… just listen, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, what did I say, Bella?" he laughs and though it's weak and nearly humorless, I can't help the tiniest smile. "Don't speak, yeah?"

I purse my lips.

He chuckles, a bit more real this time.

"Good, baby. That's perfect," he whispers. I can hear more rustling, and I imagine him laying down - running a hand through night-mussed hair, eyes hooded and sleepy, body soft and warm, lazy and cozy... "I want to tell you what I couldn't last night. Maybe it'll be easier when we're not face to face, hmm?"

"Mhm," I murmur, turning and resting my cheek against the tub.

"I want to tell you… I want to tell you how spun you've got me. I was up half the night pacing, chain smoking like a motherfucker, worrying about where you were and what was happening to you. I had this crazy idea…"

He cuts off with a laugh - a little sleep-raspy laugh - and I melt.

"I thought maybe my parents might have your address. You had me hoping my Mom and Dad were some kind of Mafiosos, keeping tabs on your father - some totally outlandish shit."

"Hmm…"

"I know, I know. Tony Soprano, Charles Swan is _not_ …" he sighs, then hesitates. "He's not, right?"

I laugh despite myself even though it hurts, and in seconds I'm wincing and coughing.

"Shh, shh. I'm sorry."

"S'okay."

"Okay," he says, and I can hear his smile.

I let the silence linger for a moment, and I know he can tell I'm grinning back when I return with, "... okay?"

Edward laughs, and the sound makes my blood sing.

"God, you're fucking cute."

I snort.

"Stop it, you are."

I huff.

"Stop!" he chuckles. "You don't see yourself very clearly, do you?"

"Hmph."

"Well, let me enlighten you then," he says. "Baby, you're _it_. Do you even understand how fucking terrifying that is?"

 _I do, I do._

"I feel like I'm going insane. I tried to reason with myself about a million different ways - that just because you're the singular most astronomically beautiful thing I've ever seen, it was nothing. That you were just another pretty girl…"

He groans, the sound airy and weak.

"But I don't think you are. There's something about you, Bella Swan. I want to know everything, if you'll let me," he sighs. "Will you?"

I breathe, shaky-deep into the receiver and stare with wide eyes at the edge of the tub.

 _He wants to know everything? There's no way. He can't handle everything. Don't let him do it. You know better than that. He doesn't deserve to bear your burdens._

"Is that scary for you? It must be. I mean, I'm talking all the way here," he insists and _God_... he sounds so, so strong. "I _promise_ you… I can handle it."

 _Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..._

"I… can't."

"You can," he says quickly, all in one breath, like it's been poised on the tip of his tongue. "Say yes, Bella-baby. Let me in, girl. Let me in."

"I'm not… I don't…"

"Can I see you?"

I sit up straight.

"Today… fuck, right now. Where are you?"

There's commotion on the other end of the line, movement.

"I'm home."

"And where is that, Bella?"

I hesitate, listening… the girls have turned up some music downstairs, and I can hear Alice squealing about ' _getting to_ _bake cookies or a cake or muffins, maybe pie!_ '

"Are you in The Hills? I can be there in fifteen minutes."

"No, wait," I whisper. "Just… please, _stop_."

Silence.

"I… I'm not ready. Not today."

A long, painful, drawn out moment goes by. I count his breaths. I get to twenty-three before he speaks again.

"Okay."

Edward doesn't push, doesn't insist. He doesn't try to convince me I'm wrong.

"I'm sorry."

"No, _Jesus_ , don't be," he says. "I was being too forward."

"Hey, B! Are you alright in there?"

I bolt upright and my thighs squeak along the porcelain. Rosalie's voice sounds too, too close and when she tries the doorknob, I gasp.

"Bella?" Edward asks.

"B, hello?" Rose calls again, knocking and trying the knob once more.

"I'm fine!" I say, a weak and pitiful attempt, and I hear Edward wince in response. "Just… a little bit longer, please."

I can hear Rosalie's nails drumming along the door frame, and I'm half convinced she'll try to pick the lock.

"Fine," she sighs. "Don't dry your hair, Alice and I will do it for you. Alright?"

I purse my lips and have to stop myself from telling her that my throat may not work, my brain may not work, but my hands are perfectly capable.

"Alright," I try, coughing around the raw aching.

"Hey, where are you?" Edward asks.

"I said... home?" I respond, slowly getting up and stretching my sore muscles. I turn on the water as I get out, cradling the phone between my cheek and shoulder as I drop my robe to the floor.

" _Where_ in your house?"

I chew on my lip, put him on speakerphone and lay the device carefully on the counter top.

"The tub."

My sleep shirt comes off next, then my soft cotton shorts and underwear and I throw my hair into a lopsided bun.

"And what are you doing now?" he asks, voice reverberating off the tiles. I shiver and smile a bit. _Edward in stereo…_

"A bath, obviously," I murmur, sitting on the edge and pouring soap directly into the stream.

Edward chuckles, low and lovely. "Oh?"

"Mhm," I hum, turning off the water. I pluck my phone off the counter, returning it to my ear as I carefully step in. I can't quite stop the little hiss that escapes, the temperature just the right side of unbearable.

"How's the water?"

"Hot."

"Lots of bubbles?"

"'Course."

"And you're naked right now?"

"Yes."

" _Fuck_ ," he hisses. "Fuck… I'm going to have to let you go."

I sink a little further, frowning.

"Why?"

"There's no way I'll be able to hold a conversation, knowing you're on the other end like that."

"Like what?" I smile, and I'm teasing and probably flirting - no, _definitely_ flirting - and it's never been this fun before. It's never been this easy.

"Bella," he growls, and I absolutely glow. "You're naked, warm and wet. Undoubtedly with some kind of girly little loofah, rubbing your arms and legs like they do in the movies. You probably even have candles and shit, right?"

"Hmm… no candles."

"No candles, right," he sighs. "Listen, I need to see you."

I freeze.

"It doesn't have to be today, or even tomorrow. But soon. You just let me know when and where, and I'll be there. It's all up to you. Alright?"

"Alright…"

"And you have my number now. Call whenever, it doesn't matter what time."

"Okay."

"Okay," he says and when I hear that smile again, I can breathe. "And, Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"You're worth the wait."

* * *

I wait until Friday to see him. I don't know where my sudden, mule-like stubbornness has come from, but I put it off as long as possible.

I don't go to school the next day, or the next. Alice and Rosalie come over every afternoon. They bring my favorite foods and try not to watch as I sneak the smallest bites. I still don't like anyone looking at me while I eat... the little that I _do_ eat - not even my girls.

On Thursday, Alice brought a case of beauty supplies.

"You look like you're going to the most glamorous battle ever," I smiled around a cough. The night before, Jacob texted me. I cried and yelled obscenities into my pillow until the sky breathed light blue.

"I'm a lipstick warrior!"

"And I'm a lipstick lesbian," Rose joked, pouting her lips and raining my face with kisses. "But only for you, B." Her red lipstick smudge stayed on my cheek all evening. Alice painted my toes navy blue and tried to convince me to trim my hair.

How to tell her I'm attached to it? That I know it's illogical and strange but the more it grows, the more I feel I can hide?

"Not today," I'd said.

Charlie didn't show for dinner, texting and citing a business meeting running late. I'd picked my way through a plate of spaghetti bolognese, Clara's very best, listening to the sounds of an empty house.

I didn't scream that night, because Edward texted me.

We'd messaged back and forth a few times. Him first the day after our phone call, just a simple, ' _Good morning, girl. How are you?_ ' I'd responded with the standard, ' _fine_.' He'd fired back quickly with, ' _no one likes a liar, B._ '

I pursed my lips around a smile. He called me 'B'.

I woke up with him and fell asleep with him after that. Every sunrise was a ' _good morning_ ', every sunset ' _sweet dreams_.' I'd stared at his words on the screen until my eyes were too sleep-bleary to function.

I went to bed early Thursday night - alone again - and when I woke the next morning, showered and dried my hair. I threw on leggings, a big shirt and a long, comfy knit sweater and Docs. I went downstairs to an empty house - Clara being off from Friday to Sunday - and had half an apple and a slice of toast.

I grabbed my messenger bag, called Mr. Bailey and went to school. On time.

My first class passed, Biology. When I went to my locker to retrieve my books, Alice and Rose caught up to me, full of shock and awe.

"Pinch me so I know it's real," Rosalie said. "Is Bella Swan… attending her classes?"

"Hush," I said, rolling my eyes. "Today felt like the day."

"Well, I'm glad," Alice chirped, hooking her arm in mine. "It hasn't been the same without you, B. You know that."

English passed without much fanfare, and lunch dragged but I survived. French was _très facile_ , but when I entered the Theatre room...

I was late, having been caught up with Mademoiselle Goff as she filled me in on what I'd missed. The class was already clearly a few scenes deep into a long-running skit and their heads snapped up when I entered through the stage door, directly into their performance.

"Ah, Miss Swan! Pleased for you to join us," Mr. Volta crowed. "Perfect timing. Why don't you jump right in?"

It was a question, but it wasn't. I scanned the gathered students.

Lauren Mallory stood, arms crossed and silver heel tapping, glaring straight daggers.

 _Fuck, she wasn't here before. Was she? I wasn't really paying attention. Damn it!_

Reluctantly, I dropped my bag by the door, shuffling across scuffed black floors. The air smelled of dust, paint and plywood.

"I just got here. I don't know what's going on."

"That's why it's called _improv_ , my dear. Improvise! These ladies were in the middle of a party, and Miss Mallory was about to entertain us with a thrilling story involving goats and a cement truck."

"Actually, Mr. V," Lauren shouted, looking back to him. "I'd like to take it in a slightly different direction."

"By all means," he said, holding out his hand. "As long as your fellow actors can follow along."

Lauren nodded, and I gulped.

"Ladies!" she yelled, clapping. "Gather 'round. I have to tell you… oh, Bella!" she said, turning, faux-surprise.

I blinked. "Hi?"

"I didn't see you come in. Did you bring the stuff?"

"Excuse me?"

The other girls shifted their feet, uncomfortable. I felt my flush spreading quick and fast, hot down my neck.

"You know, the stuff! It's not a party until we get a little gritty," she smirked, tapping the side of her nose with a single finger.

"Lauren…" a girl spoke. "I don't think that's - "

"Shut up, Chelsea," she snapped, schooling her features and smiling again. "You're always trying to ruin the fun!"

"I'm… "

"Come on, Bella, cough it up. We know you're packing."

A titter of laughter ran through the audience, and I was warm - too warm.

"Alright, that's quite enough!" Mr. V barked.

I turned and started for the door.

"Miss Swan?" he called. "Miss Swan, you can't leave in the middle of class. Miss Swan!"

I grabbed my bag and what little was left of my dignity, and ran.

I ran and ran until feet met tile, and collapsed against the floor of the bathroom. I struggled in my bag for a second, finally procuring the tiny bottle of pills. One under the tongue, breathe deeply…

Minutes passed, and panic still reigned.

With shaky hands and shaky breath, I dug around for my phone. Without a second thought, I typed and sent and closed my eyes, not opening them until my phone vibrated.

My text:

 **I need you.**

His response:

 **Where are you?**

I wiped a stray tear.

 **School.**

Seconds later:

 **I'm on my way.**

* * *

Relief.

A foreign emotion.

I truly can't remember the last time I felt real relief.

When I walk out through the front doors and see Edward, bronze and boy and beautiful, leaning against a jet-black Mustang convertible… I feel relief.

His arms are crossed, one leg over the other and a pair of Ray Ban Clubmasters perched on his nose. He's a grey t-shirt and perfectly cut jeans and Chuck Taylors, and a smile that's all pretty-gorgeous and perfectly his own.

I approach him with steady, even steps, arms wrapped tight around myself. I'm _one, two, three_ beats away when he opens his arms for me.

I nearly collapse into his embrace, suddenly so very bone-tired and spent. He holds a hand to the back of my head, the other around my waist, and nuzzles his nose into my hair.

"Hey, baby girl," he sighs, and I _swoon and swoon and swoon_.

I unlock my arms from around my body and grasp at him, fisting his shirt in both hands.

"You ready to get out of here?" he whispers, large hand warm as it rubs my back in gentle circles.

"So ready."

I step back unwillingly, and he grants me the most incredible little smile before opening the passenger side door.

"'65 Mustang?" I murmur appreciatively, melting into soft, supple red leather and stroking along the material. He stills for a moment before shutting the door heavily and bending over, forearms holding his weight with hands clasped together.

He purses his lips and when I reach up and pluck his sunglasses off, his eyes are narrowed.

"You know my car?"

I smile and shift, brushing my fingers along the dashboard.

"Of course. I suppose it should've been obvious. A guy like you, driving a Mustang?"

Edward breathes hard through his nose. "How so?"

"Well…" I sigh. "It's refined and a little dangerous, without being ostentatious. You went with raven black and kept the Red Pony interiors, which I like. It's classic and sexy," I shrug, donning his sunglasses.

He blinks at me, shakes his head and gives a maddening little half-laugh.

"I'm so fucked."

Before I can ask him to elaborate further, he's pushing himself up and off the car and walking around to the driver's side. I watch him, his long legs and lean body, narrow hips and defined arms. He spins his keys around a finger and his tendons twitch and flex.

Edward folds himself into his seat and with a wink, the car rumbles to life. I can't hold back my smile, listening to the growl of the engine as he revs it, even as I wrinkle my nose.

"Show-off."

"Only for you," he says.

We pull away from the school and I spy Edward's phone, hooked up with an AUX cord to the stereo. The wind rushes around us, loud as it jostles our hair, and I point to the device in lieu of trying to speak above the noise. Edward smiles and nods.

His phone doesn't have a passcode. I don't know why that makes me so happy, but it does.

The smile that appears when I look down and see his messages open to our conversation, though… it threatens to split my face in two.

There's my number, and it's assigned to the name 'Baby'.

I bite my lip to hide my grin and tap through to his music, hitting shuffle.

I snort, and giggle and laugh.

"Really?"

"What?" he grins, squinting in the early afternoon sunshine.

I shake my head and damn it, my cheeks hurt. With a clear of my throat, I hesitantly sing along with Adam Lazzara about lipstick on collars and sweet talkers.

Edward is all complete surprise. I falter when I realize this is the first time I've done this in front of him.

"No, keep going," he says, his hand on my thigh. We both look down. He squeezes for a brief, breathtaking moment and pulls away. I try to swallow around my heart in my throat, and tentatively begin to sing again.

He joins in, and it's strange and kind of a mess, because my voice is coming out a little too sweetly and his is all sure and smooth and lovely. But it's also perfect, because it's us and it's silly and real. When it's done, he reaches to turn down the speakers. At a red light he turns to me, one hand on the back of my seat.

"How the fuck do you know that song?"

I shrug, pursing my lips around a smile.

"That's… that's definitely not your generation, is it?" he says, running a hand through his hair and turning back to the road. "How old were you when it came out?"

"I think I was about… three."

Edward shakes his head. "Shit."

We don't speak for the rest of the drive, and I don't know where we're going but I don't really care. When we pull up to what looks like a small warehouse, he asks me why I haven't asked where we're going

I shrug, and tell him I trust him.

He smiles and leans over. One hand to the back of my head, he kisses my forehead.

"I'm glad you do," he finally says, pulling away, and I place both hands on my cheeks to hide the raging red that blooms. He tugs on my wrists. "But it makes me nervous that you're so easily trusting."

"I'm really not," I say, and it's a little snippy. I know he notices when he purses his lips.

"Then how come you're here? You don't even know me."

"Because you're you. I'd go anywhere with you."

I don't stick around to take in the look on his face - eyes a little wide, full lips parted. I open the door and step out onto the hot pavement, adjusting his sunglasses on my face - they're a little big on me, but they're his so I don't mind it.

"Where are we, exactly?"

I walk toward the large, black double-doors. I can hear his keys jingling as he easily jogs to catch up with me.

"Our practice space."

"' _Our_ '?" I ask, watching as he unlocks the door. He holds it open, gesturing with a hand for me to go ahead.

"Jasper and I. He used to have a smaller one out in Redondo Beach, and he'd been eyeing this one for a while before I got here."

I can see why. I pull off the sunglasses as I walk into a large room... brick walls, tall candles in the corners and a gigantic deep red Persian rug. A drum set sits on a slightly elevated platform to the back of the room, mic stands and wiring curling along hardwood flooring like snakes. There's a long, large sofa and a ratty armchair, a fridge tucked into the corner that looks as if it came straight out of June Cleaver's kitchen. There's a small hallway and doors off to the right and the air smells a little like weed and Jasper's incense, and a lot like Edward.

I adore it.

Edward shuts the door. The room is dark, mid-afternoon sun streaming through a few high windows at an angle and highlighting little patches: an empty beer can on a side table; sheet music covered in black scribble marks; scarves in jewel-tones tied on mic stands, hanging over a wooden folding room divider.

He dips behind the drum set, bending and fiddling for a minute before the space is lit in a buttery-yellow glow. I gape at the string lights I hadn't noticed before, strung all around the perimeter of the room.

"You like?"

I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in.

"I love," I breathe, dropping my bag on the couch and flopping down. I groan a bit, watching Edward as he stands a few feet away, arms crossed with his feet shifting. "God, this is much more comfortable than it looks."

He smiles, tugging a hand through his hair, and I want to kiss his adorable little boyish grin.

"I know. Sometimes if it's been a long night and I've had a few, I'll just crash here."

I hum, closing my eyes and nestling down further. "I can definitely see that…"

It's quiet for a moment, but I don't mind it. For once, I don't particularly feel the urge to fill the silence with unneeded words and neither does he.

"Are you tired?" he asks, so softly. I crack open one eye and peer at him.

"A bit."

"Did you… get enough sleep last night?" he says, and it feels like he's really asking so much more than that, but I can't quite see the angle he's getting at.

I answer him honestly.

"I have trouble sleeping most nights. I'm sure your definition of 'enough' vastly differs from mine."

He hesitates, then takes a step closer.

"Do you want to take a nap?" he asks, clearing his throat. "Or something. If you don't feel comfortable with me here, I can…"

I bend, untie my boots and curl my legs up beside me. When I look at Edward, he's smiling at my feet. I scowl when I realize I've worn my stupid cherry socks - a pattern of little red cherries with green leaves.

"Don't say it."

"Don't say what?" he grins, and my face is flooded with heat. "They're really cute."

I scowl a bit. "Oh, I'm sure. They were a stupid present from Alice."

He holds his hands up, raising both brows. "I said they were cute!"

I purse my lips, holding back a smile and narrow my eyes, curling a finger.

"Come here."

His face drops and he swallows - hard.

"I don't bite, Edward," I say. "Unless you'd like me to."

That gets him moving. He's a little uncertain, a little wary but makes his way over to me, hands in his pockets and sits at the other end of the couch. I sigh, trying to ignore his unease.

Edward rubs both hands over his face, breathing out a little laugh before reaching for me in a quick move - wrapping his hands around my ankles, he tugs my ridiculously socked feet onto his lap. He pinches my toe, I squeak.

And just when I think it's okay to move further, just when the need to crawl into his lap and holder on tighter than ever begins to win out over my nerves, the door opens.

"Anyone home?"

Edward gently pushes my feet away, his face all apologies. I raise to my knees and peer at Jasper coming through the door over the back of the couch.

"Bella?" Jasper asks, rearing back a bit in his confusion. "What the hell are you doing here? With… with _Edward_?"

Edward clenches his jaw. I scramble to cover.

"Rough day at school. He gave me his number if I ever wanted to jam, and I took him up on it."

My heart is in my throat and I don't fucking know why. Somehow, this seems important - keeping Jasper in the dark. It seems important to keep whatever the hell is going on between Edward and I quiet.

I don't like it, not at all. But the way he looks at me then, all barely-concealed relief, negates everything.

My boy needs me to be hush-hush, so I'll be hush-hush.

"Why didn't you call me?" Jasper asks, shutting the door behind him and hauling his guitar case with him. He deposits it on the floor and then falls heavily onto the couch… right between Edward and I.

I shrug and smile and try to appear nonchalant, even as Edward gets up and meanders over to a guitar propped on a stand by the drumset - his daisy yellow Mustang.

"Figured you were busy. I needed some new ears, anyway. You're kind of obligated to tell me I sound good all the time."

"I'm not," Jasper grins, throwing an arm around my shoulders. I settle into his side easily, eyes on Edward the entire time, who slings his guitar on and tries not to make it obvious he's looking at me from beneath his lashes. "Sometimes you fucking suck, Bella. I'm just a nice enough guy to let it slide."

"Right," I roll my eyes, ears perking - Edward has plugged in and begun strumming an idle chord progression.

"Any idea when Tay and Wren are getting here?" Jasper calls, putting me into a loose headlock. I grumble and try to wiggle out of it but he just holds tighter, choking on his laughter.

Edward looks up, and my breath catches. In the soft yellow lighting, his hair in a disarray, eyes burning… he's such a beautiful boy, and I'm so struck by it. I don't think I'll ever get used to him.

"No idea. Soon, I think?"

And like they've been called upon, the door opens.

"Speak of the devils!" Jasper says, turning around to peer at the two new additions.

I recognize them both - the drummer and bassist from The Lodge. Wren enters first, a large guitar case in hand, his blonde hair surfer-floppy; Taylor trails behind, brown hair and big hazel eyes, a cleft chin and a smile. I look away, fiddling with the edge of a throw blanket, and let the guys all speak for a moment.

"Well, hello there…"

My eyes snap up, meeting the cool blue of Wren's. I smile and nod and pretend like Edward isn't staring straight white-hot heat into the side of my face.

"Ladies, this is Bella Swan. She's a stellar vocalist and she'll be sitting in on practice today," Jasper says, getting up to kneel beside his case. He flicks it open with ease, sitting back on his haunches. "Are we ready?"

* * *

Edward Cullen is a jealous, jealous boy.

The realization comes quickly, spurred on by the surprising advances of Taylor. I'd have pegged Wren as the one to watch out for, but the other boy's shy smiles and easy-going conversation were nearly impossible to ignore. He's just so… nice.

I'd like to say I shrugged him off, gave him the cold shoulder.

I didn't. At first, it was just because I couldn't actually be certain he was really flirting with me. After I finally clued in, it was completely on purpose because watching Edward's reactions…

Well, it stirred something in me I wasn't entirely sure I liked.

It started innocently enough. Small-talk between all five of us was easy and when Taylor lowered himself to the couch beside me, it was just natural when he quietly leaned over and inquired about genres I listened to most. That led into a conversation about our favorite bands, and then about my lessons with Jasper - shying away from any mentions of rehab, of course.

When he placed a guitar in my lap and asked me to play something, it seemed innocuous enough to let him help, grabbing my hand and re-positioning my fingers; bending my elbow and correcting my strumming patterns.

It wasn't until a sharp, shrill sound rang through the speakers that I finally clued in.

Edward and Jasper had been off to the side, working on a riff together and jamming out a few tunes. Wren was close by, slapping his bass a la Tim Commerford, all of it mixing to create a low cacophony of sound. So when Taylor cleared his throat and called me cute, I was sure no one had heard it.

Edward had. His fingers fumbled, his pick at an angle, and an awful sound silenced the room. When I looked up his cheeks were splashed a delicious shade of pink, the color trickling down to his jawline.

"Woah, what the hell, man?" Jasper said, snapping his fingers in Edward's face.

He looked between Taylor and I, clenching his jaw. I raised a brow. He gritted his teeth and spoke, eyes on me the entire time.

"Sorry, I just... lost my train of thought."

"Well find it, fucker," Jasper sighed, standing and moving to a mic stand. "Are we all ready to go? Taylor, you warmed up?"

Hazel eyes and a shy smile looked back at me, grinning.

"Always," he said, and strode over to the drum set. I followed him with my eyes and landed right back on Edward.

Edward, with his narrowed eyes and perfect pink pout. Edward, all fiery Green and smokey-bronze.

I felt a little chagrined. Did he not own a mirror? Had he not been there for each of our conversations, or that first night at Muldoon's? Taylor was cute and nice and maybe if I hadn't known Edward existed, he'd be my type. But I did and I do, and nothing could compete.

The only thing holding us back was… him.

I understand - the age difference and the trouble it would cause him. Our families and their stupid rivalry. Rosalie and Jasper, their clear disapproval. I get it.

I just don't care. Maybe that's childish of me, maybe I'm showing my age and proving to him how juvenile I can be.

I want him, I want him, I want him. I know he wants me, too. Screw everything else, right?

The boys get into position, discussing songs and keys, instrument changes. I fold my legs beneath me and play errantly with the ends of my hair, purposely keeping my gaze away from Edward's searching eyes.

Like I said, maybe I'm showing my age. But maybe I'm showing my experience, too.

Edward Cullen is a jealous boy, and all jealous boys have a breaking point. There's nothing I want more in this moment than to find his.

Taylor counts them in and they slam into the first song, all heavy-hard drum beats. Edward steps up, and my heart pitter-pitter-pats. I'm in serious danger of biting through my lip when he finally begins to sing, and I feel kind of cheap for sitting here and watching for free because he's giving everything to a nearly empty room. I feel like I should be paying to watch them.

Edward makes 'Cherub Rock' entirely his own without even trying, growling through verse after verse with abandon. He takes the solo and bends it to his will, looking completely effortless. ' _Tell me all of your secrets_ ,' he croons and if he asked me in that moment, I would tell him anything he wanted to know.

By the time they've been through five songs, stopping between each to discuss timing and distortion, I'm a fucking wreck. I try to hold it in but I'm crossing and uncrossing my legs, tugging on my hair and relentlessly chewing my lip. That's not even the worst part, though.

He's looking at me the entire time. He won't stop - not when I purposely focus my attention on Taylor, not when I pretend I've received a text and turn to check my phone. It's maddening and relentless and the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen.

The boys break, and I feel like I can finally breathe. Jasper heads to the fridge for a beer before throwing himself onto the couch beside me. I keep a constant eye on Edward as he tunes his Mustang, head bent down. Taylor approaches, clapping him on the shoulder, and I swear to God he turns to stone. I really feel like I've just witnessed something otherworldly until he lifts his head and levels the unsuspecting drummer with a glare so icy-cool, I have to look away.

"So, what'd you think?" Jazz says, propping his feet atop a wooden crate masquerading as a coffee table.

I angle away from fierce jade and bronze, shrugging off my knitted cardigan and twisting my hair into a haphazard bun with one hand, fanning the back of my neck with the other - the combination of the lighting, the equipment running and _the boy_ have me completely hot and bothered.

"You guys are sick," I smile, and I really mean it. "More than sick. Your energy together is just off-the-charts. Are Taylor and Wren staying on?"

Jasper frowns at this, tipping back his beer and taking a long pull.

"Ah… unfortunately, no. They're here for the rest of the week, then they're heading back to Portland. Shame though, isn't it?" he smirks. "If I wasn't such a good person, I'd totally poach them."

"Yeah, you're a regular Mother Teresa, Jazz…"

Something cold and wet touches my bare shoulder and I flinch, spinning to find a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. I trail my eyes up, up, up the straining tendons and past the perfectly defined bicep, meeting Edward's eyes.

"Sorry - no paper straws around here, princess. You'll have to go straight from the source."

I take the bottle, making damn sure to brush my fingers along his. The corner of his lips twitch, and I'm a full-on smile. I wait until Jasper is preoccupied, talking to Taylor and Wren about levels and tone, before I rest my forearms against the arm of the couch and lean forward. Edward's eyes shoot to Jazz for the briefest of moments before he bends, eyes level with mine.

"What's your deal?" I whisper, bottle in one hand, tracing the condensation with the index finger of my other.

He inhales sharply, eyes narrowing, and I think maybe I'm a terrible person because I love it - I'm pushing his buttons, and it's the best damn feeling.

" _My_ deal?" he hisses, crouching now and mirroring my position. "What's _my_ deal? What's your's? Are you deliberately trying to rile me up?"

I lick my lips and take a slow sip. This is dangerous, so fucking dangerous because if anyone were to take one look over here, they'd see exactly what I'm doing.

I pull away, my lips making a little ' _pop_ ' against the mouth of the glass, and Edward grasps my forearm.

"Fuck, _don't_."

"Don't what?" I push, feeling the edges of his resolve and wanting to poke it and poke it until it gives. I bring the bottle to my mouth again, tracing along my bottom lip with the chilled glass.

Edward bites his own lip, and I nearly whimper. His plush, pink skin is white with the pressure of his teeth and he drags the flesh between pearly whites before he speaks.

"Bella, _please_."

And because I'm a child - because I'm reckless and stupid and make decisions with every inch of my poison little heart - I turn, looking over my shoulder quickly and checking… Jasper and the other boys have migrated to their instruments, talking about chords and finger placement and tempo.

I spin back, lean forward and press my lips against Edward's. It's barely a peck, the chastest of kisses, but I still have to gasp and hold my hand over my mouth when I pull away.

Jesus fuck… he tastes like sex and candy, and I want _more, more, more._

And the way he's looking at me - like I'm something to eat, like he wants to devour me whole...

"Hey, Cullen?"

I lean back, taking a long pull from my soda and hoping it's not my imagination that I can still taste him when I lick my lips.

"Yeah?" Edward says, his voice an irresistible rasp as he stands and runs a hand roughly through his hair.

Taylor scratches the side of his neck, looking all too sheepish.

"I think Wren and I have to dip out a little early. The other guys need us for a soundcheck…"

"No, no, that's fine," he rushes, clearing his throat. "We can just, uh… pick this up next time, yeah? That cool with you, Jazz?"

Jasper nods, stowing his guitar in it's case. "Everything's copacetic with me. We'll just cut it short today," he says, turning to me and nodding toward the door. "Bella, you ready to head out?"

I panic. A bad reaction, but I wasn't expecting this and I'm not ready to leave him yet. My back straightens.

"With you?"

Jasper furrows his brows. "Yeah, with me. Who else?" he asks, and then looks at Edward. His eyes narrow.

"I can give her a ride in a bit, man. Not a problem," Edward says, cool as a damn cucumber, bending to wrap cords and switch off amps. I keep my eyes on my Coca-Cola.

"Not likely. I don't think Bella would want to explain to her father why she's getting rides from a twenty-one year old guy he's never met before," he presses, and the way he emphasizes 'twenty-one' doesn't sit right with me - _at all_.

"I'm staying at Alice's tonight," I blurt out, the lie coming so quickly and easily, it shocks me. Though, I shouldn't even be surprised. "My overnight bag is in Edward's car, anyway."

Jasper purses his lips, crosses his arms and stares. Taylor and Wren shuffle their feet, the tension palpable.

"What do you guys plan on doing here? Why can't you leave with the rest of us?"

"I wanted to work on a song with Bella."

My head snaps up. The ease with which Edward says this leads me to believe he may not be fibbing too much.

Jasper's brows rise so far up, I think they're going to land in his hairline. "Oh, yeah? What song is that?"

"I was thinking some Mazzy Star. We talked about it on the way here. Right, Bella?" Edward says, without looking over at me. I watch him rest the now-coiled guitar cord atop a tall amp, and then I blink back at Jazz.

"Right, Edward."

I expect more of an argument. So when Jasper finally loosens up and says, "okay" I kind of want to squeal.

Taylor and Wren depart first, throwing waves over their shoulders as they go. Jasper slowly finishes packing his gear, meandering slowly to the doors. He stops to ruffle my hair a bit and I just know there's some sort of macho-man, silent communication thing going on over my head before he exits.

Edward leans against the wall opposite, arms crossed, and watches me. And watches. And watches. He doesn't move until the sound of doors shutting ceases, until the quiet rumble of Jasper's engine fades into the distance. When he does move, it's not where I expect.

He strides over to a few propped-up guitars and grabs a shiny acoustic, all spruce and rosewood. He falls heavily into the tattered old armchair to my left, strumming the open chords a few times, before sighing and beginning an instantly recognizable tune.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 _He wants me to sing. I can barely breathe right now, let alone sing._

My eyes are wide when he looks at me, and I've missed my cue completely but he just loops back around, repeating the first few bars while I count my breaths to his tempo. I hesitate for the briefest of moments.

And then I sing.

If I thought I'd got to him before, it pales in comparison. The way he's looking at me now…

I'm not even nervous. I know I should be, but as soon as I take a breath and open my mouth, it's gone. Everything I am is replaced with him - with this palpable, invisible tether pulled taught between us and I need to be closer. I stand on unsteady legs, creeping around the couch, sitting on the arm closest to him. My sock-covered toes are inches from his scuffed Chuck Taylor's.

His breath is my breath is our breath - chests moving up and down, up and down in unison. I groan around the lyrics, letting my voice wail and every word I sing is true. I want to fade right into him.

The chorus is through, and I'm wondering if he's going to skip straight to the second verse when he stops. He throws the guitar haphazardly onto the chair behind him as he stands, and I'm so ready when he reaches for me.

Hands on my waist, in my hair as the sweetest lips I'll ever know steal my breath and heart. I want to squeal and gasp and cry, and the only thing that keeps my toes from curling is when he wraps his hands around my thighs and lifts my feet from the ground, settling between my legs. I wrap them around his waist, needing him so much closer, and his answering groan is something I feel soul-deep.

Edward kisses me with nothing less than reckless abandon, his _soft, soft, softest_ lips wrapping around my own top lip, then bottom. He cups my face so gently, handling me like a porcelain doll, but I need it deeper. I tilt my head and grasp his t-shirt in both hands, tugging him closer. I feel him _there_ , smell his warm honey and sunshine, and when his tongue traces my bottom lip and I let him in, it's heaven.

He pulls away just enough to breathe the thinnest little breath, and I wish I could say I'm not whimpering and tugging on him to get closer, but I am.

"Hold on," he whispers, hands holding my face, thumbs brushing along my cheeks. He kisses me again, and again, and again - softer each time. "Hold on," he breathes, and I want to say, ' _for what? What could be more important than this?_ '

He pulls back, only centimeters between us, and runs his thumb along my bottom lip. He presses slightly until my mouth pops open for him, and then runs his tongue along my top lip.

I moan and wriggle and breath his air until I feel like I'll pass out.

 _But what a way to go, huh?_

I bite the tip of his thumb lightly, opening my eyes and looking right into turbulent green as he hisses. Pressing my palms flat against his lower back, I feel him shiver and I smile.

And then it's gone, just as quick as it came.

 _What are you doing?_ I hear myself scream. _Bella, what the fuck do you think you're doing?_

Edward kisses my cheek, my temple, my forehead and rubs his hands over my shoulder blades.

I'm not saying anything, not a peep. It's all in my head, and I can't stop it.

 _You're so selfish. Why are you letting him do this? You know he's going to love you. You're going to hurt him, you bitch! Stupid, stupid girl._

He wraps his arms around me, pulls me to his chest and I tuck my face between his shoulder and neck and try to _breathe, breathe, breathe_. I feel his lips in my hair, and it's a comfort I don't deserve.

"We should go."

I'm surprised when I hear my own voice. Edward is, too. He pulls back, eyes all over me, _seeing_ me and I want to curl up and cry.

"What's wrong?"

 _Me. Everything about me is wrong. Run away, beautiful boy... run far away from the poison little girl and her selfish, traitor heart._

"Nothing," I whisper.

 _Tell him, Bella. Tell him all your nasty little secrets. Will he still want you when he knows who you really are?_

I have the sneaking suspicion that he will, and it makes my stomach turn.

 _He deserves more than you could ever give him. He deserves pretty and light, not empty and damaged and ugly from the inside out._

' _You're right, you're right!_ ' I want to say, so maybe it'll stop.

"Hey... hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Edward says, and _oh God, he's blaming himself._

 _See what you've done? Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"No," I gasp, and when did it become impossible to breathe? "No, you're… it's me, I'm…"

 _No, no, no!_ Oh, no - not _now._

But it's too late. I squeeze my eyes shut, tilting my head down. Through the fog I can feel his hands on my arms, steadying me. I reach up and grasp his wrists, and he asks if I need my pills. I shake my head until I'm dizzy and he rests his forehead against mine, sweet breath brushing against my lips as he speaks.

"Breathe with me, baby. Just breathe with me."

I try - but with every one of his even inhales, I'm taking two broken ones.

"It's okay. It's alright, just feel me. Come on… feel me, girl."

And he takes one of my hands and places it palm-down, flat against his chest - holding it to him with both of his own.

And I feel him.

And I breathe.

I breathe.

* * *

Edward pulls into a Sonic Drive-In on the way to my place and buys me a Cherry-Vanilla Coke. He makes fun of me, telling me I have an addiction, but takes my gentle ribbing in stride when he orders a strawberry milkshake.

"Why strawberry?" I ask, happily munching on my Maraschino cherry. "I had you as more of a peanut butter fudge guy."

He wrinkles his nose, licking pink sugary goodness off his straw, and shakes his head. It's so fucking cute, and I tell him so.

He throws his head back, laughs, and tells me to hush up.

"Nothing against peanut butter and chocolate, but if given a choice… I'll always choose strawberry."

I curl up on the seat, sinking down into soft leather that smells like smoke and California and Edward, and raise my brows.

"Isn't it obvious?" he smiles. I shake my head. "You always smell like strawberries."

My smile is so wide it nearly hurts and when he gives me the cherry from the top of his milkshake, I want to kiss him. I angle my body toward him, bringing my knees tighter to my chest - and I know he wants it, too.

But I don't do it. I chew on my lip and watch him lick a bit of whipped cream from his thumb, wishing I could lean over and do it for him.

At the end of my driveway, just before the tall wrought-iron gates, Edward stops his car.

I bite the end of my straw, nervously tucking my hair behind my ears, and try to win over the pull to look at him.

I lose.

Edward's eyes are soft and warm in the cold blue dusk, and I want to crawl into his lap and never leave. When he puts his hand on the back of my neck, gently kneading the skin there, I feel like I could probably stay right here in this car forever as long as he's with me.

"I want to kiss you," he whispers. "Will you let me?"

I hate myself all over again for making him second-guess himself. Does he think I didn't like it? That I don't want to kiss him? That I don't want _him_?

The thought is so preposterous, I let all rational thought fly out the proverbial window.

"I would let you do anything you want to, Edward."

It's not a lie.

And the way he closes his eyes, the shiver that rocks through him, the way he breathes out before leaning over and kissing me makes me feel like I'm spinning.

I lick his strawberry lips and when he lets me inside, I could cry. It's always been boy's tongues inside _my_ mouth - insistent and greedy, taking everything but never giving.

Edward gives. He lets me run my fingers through his hair, groans when I tug on it just so; keeps his body soft, warm and pliant so when I slip my fingers underneath his shirt and pull him closer, he relents. I'm wild with the power he's given me, with the taste of him.

When I pull away I kiss his cheek, his temple and his forehead - just like he did to me. I scratch lightly along his scalp and feel him moan. I kiss his neck, breathing him in before I back away.

And when I walk up the driveway, turning back and watching him watching me as the grand gates open behind me, I dare to dream - just for a moment - that I could be enough for him.

* * *

 **oh bella, bella, bella... i feel for you, girl. what did you think? let me know - and while you're reviewing, tell me how your week has been. i'd love to know! :)**

 **switching things up a bit, i think i'd like to start doing rec's at the end of each chapter - a mix of new stories i've read, and some old favorites. this week is a new one (to me): ' _for the summer_ ' by camoozle. oh my god, you guys - i love me some slow burn, but this was another level entirely. it hurt so, so good. absolutely beautiful. i'm a sucker for a good coming-of-age story. if you haven't already read this one, i would _highly_ recommend it.**

 **until next time, you can catch me on twitter (and now tumblr, where i reblog aesthetics and story inspo). i'm bellaofthebarre on both. xx - b**

 _ **chapter five mixtape:**_

 **track 1 - 'cute without the 'e' (cut from the team)' by taking back sunday**  
 **track 2 - 'cherub rock' by the smashing pumpkins**  
 **track 3 - 'fade into you' by mazzy star**


	7. alone

' _Disarm you with a smile, and leave you like they left me here_ _to wither in denial,_  
 _the bitterness of one who's left alone..._ '  
 _  
_'Disarm' - The Smashing Pumpkins

* * *

 _Saturday, September 15th, 2016_

 _I'm fucking up. I know I am._

 _There's a party tomorrow night - at Mike Newton's beach house, down in Laguna. Rose and Alice told me they'd stay with me if I didn't want to go… but they still asked. I never would've known about it if they hadn't. I know they want to go. I know if I don't go, they won't._

 _So I'm going. God help me, I'm going._

* * *

The smell of smoke greets me when I awake on Saturday morning.

It's pungent, acrid, and fills my mouth with an unbearable taste. I'm up and out of bed, running wildly, trying to suss out the source. Was the fireplace left on? An electrical fire?

Damn it, of course I would be the only one home when catastrophe hits.

Only I'm not.

Only when I finally step into the kitchen, waving my hand wildly in front of my face, I'm not alone at all.

"Dad?"

Charles Swan stands, dish cloth waving, in the middle of our kitchen. He's pressed slacks and a crisp button-down, a perfectly trimmed mustache…

And a bright yellow apron.

"Dad?" I call again, a little louder, trying desperately to stifle my impending laughter. "Dad!"

That gets his attention. He spins, peering at me through the rapidly worsening smoke.

"Damn it," he wheezes, coughing. "Good morning, Bella."

I hide my nose and mouth in the collar of my robe and move quickly, opening the back door, flying to the stove and turning the hood fan on. A cursory glance at the smoking pan before me shows what looks to be an assortment of coal.

"Jesus, Dad… what the hell _is_ this?" I manage, swiping the offending object from the stove top and bringing it to the sink. I scrape the… whatever the fuck it is into the trash, and immerse cast iron in tepid water. It sizzles and releases a cloud of what could quite possibly be atomic ash. I grab a scouring pad and try to chip away at the remnants.

"It was _supposed_ to be breakfast," he says and when I look up, he's fiddling with the end of his apron.

When he sees me staring, he quickly unties it and throws it onto the counter.

"You really hate me that much, you were willing to feed me…" I pause, looking into the garbage can. " _That?_ "

Charlie reaches, turning off the stove fan, and his face is marred with a twisted-up frown.

"Hate you? Bella, what are you talking about?"

I turn the sink off, abandoning the sponge and the pan, and grab a couple of bowls from the cabinet above me.

"Isabella?" he says again - and again, I ignore him.

I busy myself with grabbing a pint of strawberries, a knife, and a container of vanilla yogurt. I hide behind the fridge door as I check the calories, not willing to let him see and give him even more to question me about.

He has to think I'm better, that I'm okay… or he'll never let me go out tomorrow night.

I don't really think I want him to, but the thought of not having a choice in the matter is entirely too abhorrent.

I slice up the strawberries and spoon out the yogurt, taking care to give him a bigger portion and arranging mine to look as similar as I possibly can.

The trick is in the bowls - his bigger, mine smaller. He'll never tell the difference. He never has before.

Charlie sips from a glass of apple juice, eyes anywhere but on me. I keep moving, wishing this wasn't so awkward… wishing we were making eggs in a basket instead, Mom beside us buttering bread and singing and kissing our cheeks.

I wonder if he even remembers those days. Am I the only one in the world who holds those memories anymore?

"Thanks, Bella," he says and I can't believe I thought for a brief moment there, he was going to say it - he was going to call me _'bug.'_

If he had, I think I'd have broken down and told him everything.

He sits on a stool at the breakfast bar and I lean back against counter across from him, swirling berries into ivory-white yogurt until it all turns pink. When I take a bite, I can't hide my smile.

It tastes a little bit like Edward did last night - sweet strawberries and cream.

"Any big plans for this weekend?"

My head snaps up, my smile fades. Charlie looks at me over the rim of his glass, and I wonder if perhaps he knows. Maybe Jacob found out and warned him?

"I'm not sure yet," I say, and it's true. If he doesn't let me go, then I _don't_ actually have any 'big plans'. "You?"

He sighs and smooths out his moustache, pushing his glass of juice toward me. I step forward, pick it up and take a sip.

"I'll be in the office."

I nod, taking one more gulp and replacing his drink before him.

Well, that just figures.

"All weekend?" I ask, because I'm already formulating a plan and I hate it. This is how we used to function - I'd gather intel about where he'd be, and work all my debauchery and sin around his schedule.

"Looks like it," he grumbles. "Why?"

That makes me start for a moment. He's never asked _that_ before, ' _why?_ ' He's always just taken what I've said at face-value.

"Nothing. I just, um… I was planning on having Alice and Rose over this weekend. For a sleepover."

The sound of stainless steel against porcelain is all that fills the air between us for a long moment as Charlie scrapes his bowl clean, and I take the slowest and smallest bites I possibly can.

"They been over a lot, Alice and Rosalie?"

I shrug, eyes down. "A bit. Just after school and stuff."

"And they've been… they understand? About the, uh… the situation?"

 _The situation_? Right, because that's all I am anymore - a situation. Something to be handled, swept under the rug if possible… Charles Swan's troublesome daughter. _Such_ a scandal.

"Yeah, they understand. Don't worry, Rose isn't slipping me anything when you're not looking."

He straightens, slamming the glass he'd previously been polishing off atop pristine marble.

"Alright, I've had just about enough of your insinuations."

I smile, a wry little thing, and put my half-eaten bowl in the sink.

"What insinuations? That you think my best friend is a bad influence? That you think I'm going to fuck up and start using again?"

"Isabella!" he snaps, his face tomato-red, and I jump a bit. "That's _enough_."

I sigh, turning to quickly leave the room before this gets any worse.

"You're right, Daddy," I call over my shoulder. "It is."

When the rumble of his Jaguar is just a faint sound through my open window, I allow myself to think about how the way he shared his juice with me is just the same as we did when I was young. I'd refused to drink anything of my own - it had to be his juice, his milk, his water.

My mother didn't like it. I had always been a Daddy's girl, and she couldn't quite stand it. She was always asking me for more hugs, more kisses, and when I refused and gave them to Charlie instead...

I guess it didn't really matter much, anyway. Renee Swan found other ways to fill the holes in her black, black heart - and none of them included me.

* * *

Saturday night finds me alone - with Alice off in Malibu with her parents and Rosalie with Emmett, I'm by myself.

Really, truly _alone._

I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it.

Scratch that, I do know how to feel about it - awful. Before I went to rehab, I _always_ had somewhere to be. There was never a dull moment… _always_ a party, and I had my pick. _Always_ someone wanting me to show up somewhere, and _always_ an endless supply of drugs and alcohol.

If I didn't have that, I would be completely lonely - with Charlie rarely home, it was more often than not an empty house.

Much like now.

This is precisely what I'd been trying to avoid. The silence, the almost stifling sound of quiet...

I pace for a while - weaving in and out of bedrooms never used, walking around the barely-touched yet immaculately maintained pool outside. I eventually settle, curled up in front of the raging fireplace with a cup of mint tea. It's hot outside but with the AC cranked, I try my very best to pretend I'm somewhere wetter, greener, more alive.

I close my eyes, and it should be no surprise… but the only thing I can see is Edward.

 _Where is he tonight? Is he at home? Does he have his own place, or is he with his parents?_ I never thought to ask him.

 _Is he drinking? Smoking? Maybe he's at the practice space with Jazz… will he spend the night there? Would he let me stay with him, if I asked?_

My phone vibrates beside me. I eye it with disinterest, upset that it's interrupting my lonely musings… until the one name I've been rolling around in my head all day flashes on the screen.

I scramble, trying to calm my heart as I pick up.

"Hello?"

"Bella, Bella, Bella…"

I smile and close my eyes, cradling hot tea to my chest.

"Hello, Edward."

"How's the only girl in the world doing tonight?"

"Sad," I sigh, trying for a joke in front of some thinly-veiled honesty.

He hums - that warm, low sound. My toes curl up a bit beneath fuzzy pink socks.

"Oh, no… we've got a sad-baby on our hands? That just won't do."

 _Baby, he said baby!_

I could hardly believe myself, my reaction to him and how he spoke to me. Pet names, an interesting concept. Never really personal enough, in my opinion. How many other boys out there call girls ' _baby_ '? Thousands, if not millions.

But the way Edward says it, his voice and his heart wrapping around the word, makes it all our own.

"What's wrong?" he asks, and in the background I can hear a roar of laughter, clinking glasses and music.

"Where are you?" I say instead.

"The Six," he answers. "Do you know it? The rock club downtown?"

"Mhm, I know it."

"Have you ever been?"

"I might have."

"Oh, so she's a sneak-baby now?" he laughs. "You do know it's twenty-one and over, right?"

I smile a wry little smirk. "That's never stopped me before."

He's silent for just a beat too long. I wince.

"I think I miss you," he sighs. "Which is fucking crazy, and I won't beat a dead horse but…"

I thrill, my heart beating double-time.

"But you don't even know me?"

"Yeah."

I take a sip of tea, pulling my blanket-covered knees up tight to my body.

"It's okay. I think I miss you, too."

"Do you?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, that's alright then," he chuckles. "I'm a little bit out of my mind here, but you _perhaps_ miss me. So, it's okay."

"You said you _thought_ you missed me," I shoot back.

"I lied."

"Don't do that."

"You do it."

"That's… different."

"It's really not."

I still, listening to his breathing and the din of the club behind him.

"I have to go."

Edward groans, and I can picture him perfectly... running a hand through his hair and tugging, maybe smoking a cig.

"No, don't… I'm sorry."

I scoff a bit and curl in further, watching flames dance.

"For what?"

He breathes out a little half-laugh, and my tummy does a kick-flip.

"I don't even fucking know. I'm just _sorry_ ," he sighs. "I'm not a liar, really. I promise."

I swallow around the bitter doubt. Promises are for people who deserve them. Not someone like me.

Promises are made to be broken - it's inevitable.

"You are, though. You just did."

"Did what?" he says, and he slurs a bit.

 _I wonder if he's had anything to drink?_

The thought makes me bristle, and I know I'm a gigantic fucking hypocrite but I don't like it. I don't like the thought of him drinking, of him _being drunk_.

That's me - intoxicated and stupid, stumbling and faded. It's not him - a perfect prince of a boy.

Some people say your body is a temple and if it is, mine is The Temple of Aphrodite - the bare-bones ruins of depravity and excess, just a few crumbling pillars of stone.

Edward's is something else entirely… pristine and clean, without fault or lewdness. It should stay that way.

 _But you'll be the one to ruin him, won't you?_

I swallow around the lump in my throat.

"Have you been drinking?"

"A bit," he says, so unsure.

"Hmm…"

"What? What does that mean, ' _hmm_ '?"

In the background, I hear someone calling his name.

' _Cullen! Get your sweet ass over here and take this shot with me!'_

My tummy turns. For some reason, I want to vomit.

No, not for _some reason_. For many reasons, but namely… because that was a distinctly female voice.

And then I feel crazy, because of course he's around females. Did I not watch women flocking around him at Muldoon's? For good reason, too. Edward is undoubtedly the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Of course he'd know girls, be friends with them.

 _Drink with them._

My stomach flips again.

"I should let you go…"

"No!" he says. "No, just… just wait. Bella, are you okay?"

 _Ha! I am a lot of things, but I am most certainly not okay_.

"Sure," I say, playing nonchalant.

"Liar," he breathes, and I'm not really sure if he meant for me to hear it or not. "Where are you?"

I already know by now that ' _where are you?_ ' in Edward-speak directly translates to ' _I'm coming to get you_.'

"Nowhere you want to be."

 _Why am I fucking with him like this? What's wrong with me?_

"What does that mean?" he says, and I can tell he's getting...

 _Oh._ Oh, he's _upset_.

I love it. I love that I can _make him_ upset, and I hate myself for loving it.

"Where are you? I'm not playing around."

"Neither am I. I'm at home, Edward," I sigh. "Alone, if you were wondering. Don't worry."

"Oh my God, what the fuck does _that_ mean?" he groans. "Baby, you've got me so fucking confused right now. What… what do you want me to say here?"

I take a sip of my now lukewarm tea, drumming my nails along the porcelain mug.

"I want you to say you'll come over. That you'll drop everything you're doing and leave, right now."

I play it off like I'm kind of half-joking, because I want it more than anything… but it's so ridiculous, I know he'll laugh it off. I'm prepared for it.

He doesn't.

"Done. What's your address? I'll go catch a cab now."

 _Wait, what?_

"Excuse me?" I say and _Jesus_ , I was not prepared for this scenario.

 _What, the scenario where someone genuinely cares for you? Get a grip, stupid._

"There's only a few cabs out here tonight, and they're going like hot cakes. I have to snag one before… oh, _shit!_ What's your address?"

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

And he is.

I can hear the sounds of a bustling L.A. evening in the background - horns honking and loud chatter, laughter. He's outside. He's really trying to hail a fucking cab right now.

So, I panic.

"No."

"No?" he says, a little winded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, no."

He's run, from the sound of his rapid breaths, and I feel even more awful - if at all possible.

"Okay… I'm trying not to feel a little hurt here, but you're making it kind of hard."

"I know, I just… it's… now's not a good time."

I don't want to lie to him. I feel terrible lying in general but it's an awful, physical ache when I lie to _Edward_. I don't _want_ to lie.

But, I do.

"My Dad just got back, I can hear him in the garage."

"Ah, I _see_. That's why you're being so…"

 _Bitchy? Rude? Stubborn? That's why you're lying, even though he doesn't deserve it?_

"... Quiet?"

 _Quiet. He thinks I'm just being quiet._

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

The sounds are changing - no longer cars and hustle-bustle, but glasses clinking and idle chatter. Mellow rock and female voices.

' _Cullen, what the fuck? Are you leaving already?_ '

He's back inside, and I've missed my chance. I had it, had _him_ , and I fucking blew it.

"Nah, I'm back. Sorry, Heidi," he sighs, and _who the fuck is Heidi?_ "Baby? Are you there?"

My tea is cold and suddenly, so am I. I discard it off to the side and sit back, pressing the phone _tight, tight, tight_ to my ear so I hear only him.

"I'm here."

He's smiling when he speaks again, and I wish I could jump through the phone and kiss his little grin.

"When can I see you again?"

 _Well, it would've been now if I wasn't so fucking unstable._

"Whenever."

"Tomorrow night?"

The party. If I tell him, will he be upset? He doesn't really know I'm not supposed to be there, right?

"I… kind of have a party I've got to be at."

He inhales, a sharp little breath. "A party? Are you sure you're… that you're _allowed_ to be there?"

It's my turn to gasp now, because he fucking knows. _How does he know?_

"Who told you?" I manage, and it's weak and thin.

"Told me what, angel?"

"About… about me, and…"

" _Oh_ ," he sighs, reluctant. "It was Jasper."

 _Jasper. Right._

"Jasper. Right," I squeak. "Listen, I've got to go. Enjoy your night, okay? Be safe."

"Wait, wait, wait. What's wrong?"

 _Everything. Fucking everything. I'm scared and more fucked up than you could ever possibly imagine and it's just not fair - for you, or for me. Jasper told you, and now when I see you I'll know that you know… and I just don't want to see that look in your eyes that everyone else gets._

That ' _oh, what a shame, she's so young_ ' look. That ' _what's wrong with her, why would she do such a thing?_ ' look. That ' _she's dirty, tainted, dangerous_ ' look.

 _I just want you to look at me like you did that first time. Like I'm everything. Like I'm an endless possibility. Will you ever look at me like that again?_

The thought that the answer could possibly be ' _no_ ' is enough to completely choke me up.

I wipe angry tears roughly off my heartbroken face, and try not to let my voice break as much as I feel like I am right now.

"Nothing. I just have to go, my Dad is… he's… I have to go. I'll be missing you."

I hang up. I turn my phone off. I curl up tight, too tight, so tightly I feel as if my ribs will crack.

I don't fall asleep until he stops calling back, just before the sky starts to sing electric blue.

* * *

I'm a pale green baby-doll dress and Docs to Alice's all-black turtleneck and belted wool skirt. She's classy and timeless, her bob curly-cute wavy and winged liner sharp. I feel under-dressed beside her, stepping through the doors of Mike Newton's family beach house with only a slick of mascara and cherry Chap-stick. My only confidence is in the way Alice has done my hair - blow dried bouncy-soft, framing my face.

Something I don't recognize is pounding through the speakers, all bass-heavy beats, and it makes my nose wrinkle.

"Certainly not to our tastes, is it, B?" Alice says, linking her arm with mine and maneuvering us around the throng.

I'm stopped more than once, hands grabbing and voices speaking like they know me. I'm sure they do but when I turn to face them, I don't know them from Adam. It's not hard to guess why. I've met a lot of people, but I've been fucked up for the majority of those meetings.

I'm in the middle of trying to pull away from an over-eager blonde guy in nothing but boardshorts when I hear her.

" _Pass me the fucking Jack, Tyler!_ "

I spin, meeting Alice's eyes. We don't have to say it before we're both off like a light, cutting through sweaty bodies to the kitchen.

She's standing atop the kitchen island, barefoot and messy but still somehow beautiful. Her _short, short, short_ pink dress is satin and lace, nothing but a slip of a thing, and her golden hair is loose and wild. She's got one hand on her hip, and the other clasped around the neck of a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Alice and I move as one, a unit, more practiced in the art of 'Corralling Rosalie Hale' than we'd like to be. Even in the thick of my own highs, calming Rose has always been my top priority.

"Rose, get down from there," I say, tugging on the bottom hem of her dress. She's gathered a crowd all her own, and the last thing I want to do is give them something more to talk about.

"Bella, my Bella!" Rosalie crows, all grace and poise despite herself as she first kneels on the island, then swings her legs over the side. She cups my face and plants a wet kiss on my cheek that smells of liquor and excess. "You _came_!"

"Yes, Rose, she did. Now, can you come with us, dearest?" Alice says, all soothing and even, and I'm so fucking glad she can speak because I sure as hell can't. There's someone taking a hit from a gigantic, blue glass bong in the corner and if I have to look at it for one more second, I'll vomit.

"Where are we going?" she slurs and just like that, she's crashing. Her arms loop around my neck, heavy and warm, as she slips off the counter. Between Alice and I, we're just able to hold her up as her legs begin to give out.

"The bathroom. We need to get you cleaned up," Alice says, eyes on me as we weave toward the stairs at the front of the house. "Can you tell us what you've taken, Rose?"

Rosalie shakes her head and lets out a hiccuping little giggle, before her head sags forward.

"My shoes," she groans. "Where the fuck are my shoes? They're Louboutins, Alice… _Louboutins_!"

"We'll find them, sweetest. Won't we, B?" Alice says. I can only nod, apparently unable to find my voice, swallowing hard.

We round the corner, and the stairs loom like a giant before us. Alice and I share a look - Rosalie is light, and usually we would be able to manage… but she's completely limp. There's no way just the two of us will be able to make it.

"Where's Emmett, Rose?" I finally say, clearing my throat as my voice wavers.

"Emmett…" she sighs in response. "Where _is_ Emmett?"

I nod toward the stairs with my chin and Alice follows as we slowly, carefully lower Rosalie to the steps. I catch her just as she begins to sag to the right, wrapping an arm around her and feeling too-hot skin, slightly damp with sweat. Her head is heavy on my shoulder, and I can smell the patchouli-citrus-rose of her Coco Mademoiselle beneath the pungent musk of marijuana.

"I'll go find him, Rose, alright? You just stay here with Bella and try not to fall asleep. Can you do that, dearest?"

"Mhm…" she mumbles, tucking further into my hair, one arm slung heavily over the tops of my thighs in a drug-lazy half-hug.

Alice slips off into the crowd, and I follow her with my eyes until I can't tell the difference between black wool and shadows. There are stares on us, whispers that I choose to ignore as I rub up and down Rosalie's back, trying to smooth her tangled hair.

"Bella?" she whispers a long moment later. I startle, my ministrations halting.

"Yeah, Rose?"

With sluggish movements, she reaches down the front of her dress. When her hand re-emerges, it's holding my own personal Hell on Earth.

"What the fuck are you doing, Rosalie? Get that shit away from me."

My voice is bordering on hysterical but I can do nothing to help it, not when she's holding out a little half-full baggie of cocaine and imploring me with her eyes to take it.

"I don't… don't want you to _use_ it, B," Rose slurs. "Just want you to take it from me. Em can't… he can't…"

"No," I choke out, shaking my head, eyes shut. " _No_! Rose… please, stop."

She struggles to sit up, and I would help her but I can't open my fucking eyes. I can't look at it. My heart is in my throat, my brain is buzzing and my skin feels like it's made of molten lava.

"Listen, listen… don't use it. You just need to throw it… throw it away for me. Okay? Just throw it away."

And she grabs one of my hands in both of hers and places the small baggie in my hot, clammy palm. She curls my fingers around it. I can feel the ridges of the plastic digging into my flesh and when I clench my hand around it, I can feel the powder inside shifting. I can feel how soft it is, and I know it's the good shit. Rosalie doesn't buy anything but the best.

"You'll throw it away... won't you, B?"

"I'll throw it away," I say, as I tuck it into my bra. _Lie._

"Promise me? I'm sorry, I just can't… can't let Em see it. He'll be so upset. Promise me?"

"I promise," I say, as I lay it atop my heart. _Lie._

"I trust you... you're good now, Bella. You wouldn't. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," I say - and this time, it's not a lie.

* * *

I have to wash my hands five times before they stop smelling like vomit, but the nauseating cucumber-melon hand soap does nothing for the stains on Rosalie's dress. She wouldn't allow Emmett into the washroom, and it took some heavy convincing to assure her he didn't mind if she wore his letter man jacket.

It's from his school in Chicago and I wonder if that's where his brother went, too. Did Edward also play football? Was he in any clubs?

The funny thing is that somehow, even with her hair tied back haphazardly into a mess of a ponytail, mascara smudged and lipstick non-existent, a jacket three sizes too big draped on her supermodel-slim body… Rosalie is still beautiful. It's almost as if she becomes _more_ alluring, floating through the party under Emmett's arm with Alice and I flanking them.

"Do you need anything to drink?" Alice asks, eyes wide and worried as Emmett settles himself and Rose down on a low couch.

"Ugh, fuck no. The last thing I need right now is more alcohol, Allie."

"I think she meant _water_ , Rosie," Emmett sighs, trying for a smile. It twists into more of a grimace, his baby blues focused on nothing but the blonde tucked into his side.

For a moment, I see so much of his brother in him, I could weep.

"Oh… then, yes," Rose nods, eyes closed, body weary. "Thank you."

"I'll get it," I pipe up, feeling comfortable with leaving her now that she's begun to come down. I'd never really believed it when my Mom said things like ' _it's better out than in_ ' when I was younger, but now I do.

I should've believed her, though. It took me a few more years to realize that she really, _really_ knew what she was talking about.

I see Mike directly in the middle of my path to the kitchen, and take a sharp left into another long room filled with couches - that is one confrontation I am definitely _not_ ready to have. I hop down two short steps into a lowered living room, not packed nearly as tight as the previous.

If there's one thing to be said for Mike Newton, it's that he has a hell of a party space.

The entire back wall of the room is glass, showcasing the ivory sand and midnight blue of the ocean just down a short, private path off the side of the house. I gravitate forward, drawn as if by a magnet, but stop short.

Because it's not the view that was pulling me.

It's the boy.

Edward Cullen sits, all cool-confidence, on a couch tucked up against the wall of glass.

He steals my fucking breath.

He's a soft grey long-sleeve and worn jeans, a hole at the knee, Chucks on his feet. His crooked grin is all sexy-sweet, posture relaxed. I move to step toward him, but then I meet his eyes…

They're fire, hitting straight to my soul. His brow is furrowed over blazing jade and in an instant, I feel as if my knees are going to give out.

I don't even wonder why he's here, because it just makes sense for him to be wherever I am. Or maybe it's _me_ that's wherever _he_ is? It seems like a foregone conclusion, and I can't believe I told him to stay away from me last night. There's nothing more I want in this world than to be with him, on him - everywhere.

I freeze.

And it seems to be just the pause the universe needed because it gives a tall, statuesque redhead in a cherry-colored bodycon dress an opening to seat herself directly on his lap.

If I thought I'd felt sick before… I didn't. It's nothing compared to this.

My skin is fucking crawling with the need to… to… I don't even know what. To scream? To cry? To _purge, purge, purge_?

And then I feel the press of a plastic baggie against the soft skin of my chest, and it feels like some sort of sign.

I'm turning, spinning on my heels and whirling from the room like a bat out of Hell. I hear him, hear his panicked cry - my name on his lips. It makes me falter, but not enough to stop me. I'm half-crazed, mad with the need to use and abuse, to have a moment - just a _single fucking moment_ \- where I don't feel as if I could explode into a million devastating little pieces.

I feel like I'm floating as I soar up the stairs, my eager feet not missing a single beat. The bathroom is in sight and I swear, it's glowing and calling out to me - like a beacon, like my own little sanctuary. The marble countertop is the altar where I'll find my release.

"That wasn't what it looked like. Bella, _stop_. Stop!"

I'm steps away and I can nearly taste the acrid relief on the back of my tongue, feel the glorious numbness on my gums when I'm yanked backward.

"What the _fuck_ is going on with you?"

His hands are tight enough to bruise, clamped around my upper arms as they are, but I welcome the ache as he presses me back against the wall. His breath smells of peppermint and smoke, the tip of his nose brushing against mine with his proximity.

In this dusky half-light of the hallway, his face is the only thing I see… and he looks like an angel.

"Answer me!" my savior hisses, squeezing me harder, harder still and I _thrill_.

The smile that curls my lips upward confuses him for the briefest of moments before I'm on him, tilting and leaning just so until I can taste him. And, when I do…

There's nothing that could stop the moan I let out as our lips meet, and I don't realize until that very moment how cold I am. Not until all his warm and soft is on me, not until the way he groans and laces his fingers into my hair heats me from the inside out. His lips are plush and sweet, and his kiss is everything - _everything_.

I'm wild and crazy, grasping his shirt in my fists, tugging his hair. He takes all I've got and gives it right back, and my chest feels like it could cave in with what I'm feeling for him. He wraps a hand around the back of my knee and hitches my leg over his hip, and I inhale sharply through my nose.

He pulls away first, panting and gasping for breath, and my blood sings. He rests his forehead against mine and I watch his tongue peek out, watch him lick his lips and whimper.

"Cherry Chap-stick?" he says, breathing out a laugh, the pad of his thumb rubbing against the smooth skin of my thigh as he holds my leg up. "You're really trying to kill me here."

I say nothing, unable to form words for the way he's got me feeling. My hips roll, all my warm and wet beneath soft cotton pressing flush against his zippered denim. I will him to feel me, and the groan he laments into my neck tells me he does.

Edward swears and sighs and nips at my skin, and I throw my head back and try to breathe. He lays kisses all along my throat, my exposed collarbone, just along the neckline of my dress.

" _Fuck_ ," he says and he rolls his hips, hitting _there, right there._ I let out a shaky little mewl and he makes that infuriating, gorgeous, warm hum deep in his chest. "Like that? Right there?" he breathes, lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

" _God_ , yes…"

He grinds again, and I cease to fucking exist when I feel him - hard and big, straining against soft denim.

He grunts, pressing harder, harder.

"Is this how you like it, girl? Against a wall, quick and dirty?"

' _I'd like anything with you, anywhere_ ,' I want to say. ' _Only with you_.' But I can barely string two thoughts together or even _breathe_ , let alone _speak_.

"Is this what you want our first time to be, baby? Me fucking you against this wall, out in the open where anyone could see us… Right here, right now?" he says, lips at my ear, and there's something in his voice… if I could only let my mind clear enough to figure it out…

And then I do, and I want to hit myself.

Disappointment.

And finally, mercifully, I find my voice.

"No," I whimper, pressing kisses to the heated skin of his neck, stilling my hips and his. I wrap my arms around him, feeling his warmth and breathing in all his honey and lilac and boy. "No, not here. Not now."

His body sags and there's such relief in the way he rests his forehead against the side of my neck, I could cry.

"I would have, you know," he says, his voice whisper-soft. "If that's what you wanted, I would have. I want it to... to be special, the first time. I try to be a gentleman, Bella, but I'm still a man. And you've got me so fucked up…"

Edward lifts his head and his eyes are soft, his cheeks just the slightest bit pink.

"I'd give you anything you want, and that scares the shit out of me."

 _Anything I want?_

Bright red hair and a sly grin dance in my mind, the imagine of a flaming vixen poised on his lap making my skin crawl.

"I want you to tell me who that woman was."

It's not what he expected, not at all. The way his brows furrow, his gorgeous bottom lip jutting out a bit, says it all.

"Who, Victoria?"

"Do I look like I know her name, Edward?" I say, and I'm surprised when my voice comes out sounding so cool - nearly unaffected. It's the complete opposite of the battle raging inside me.

"She's nothing," he says, shaking his head, still confused. "Nothing. She's a nuisance. I didn't even know she'd be here tonight."

"But you knew _I_ would?"

His arms around my waist squeeze tighter, pulling me against him, not an inch of air between our flushed bodies.

"I did."

"How?"

He purses his lips but holds my gaze, and I love it. It lets me know he isn't lying.

"I asked Alice. Last night, when you told me you were going to a party… I knew she'd know."

"You're here because of me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Edward swallows, hard. "I wanted to make sure you were safe."

I nod slowly. "Right. Because you know about… about everything."

It's not a question, and the way he looks at me - so even, never wavering - he doesn't even have to answer.

It's my turn to gulp now, and I do - audibly. My arms, looped around his neck, loosen just the slightest bit. Not enough to let go - not even close.

"Yeah, I know."

"And you're still here?"

His furrowed brow softens, his face becoming so serene all at once, it throws me a bit.

"I'm still here."

"Edward?"

It isn't my voice that says it, and the way he breaks away from me so quickly…

I know who it is before I've even turned to see her... a tight, crimson red, vampy seductress - Victoria.

I feel the loss of him so acutely, I wince. He's looking back and forth between us - me, her, me, her, _me. Me. Me_. He tries to catch my eye, but it's already done and he's not just my Edward anymore - he's her's and his friend's, and all the people who would judge him for being with me.

"Who is _this_?" the woman says, arms crossed, heels click-clacking evenly along hardwood floors.

She's long legs and confidence, chin held high, gazing down her nose at me… and I know what I look like in her eyes: a silly little girl, moon-eyed and love-crazed for this dashing older boy.

Maybe I am. Maybe I'm more than that. It certainly feels like it, when everything in me is tuned to his frequency and I feel the pull between us like a live-wire of energy.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Victoria is so far into Edward, she's lost herself. Perhaps if I were a better person, I'd be able to use common sense - _how many times has he told you he's crazy about you, and only you? Does he have to fucking spell it out for you? He feels it, too._

But I'm not a better person, and in that moment - standing between my prince and the woman that covets him - I feel exactly my age. I feel like a stupid, love-sick, sixteen-going-on-seventeen year old girl and I _hate, hate, hate_ it.

People see many things when they look at Bella Swan: addict, liar, sinner, siren - but never has anyone's perception of me made me who I am. I may be all those things, but they were of my own volition.

Victoria looks at me as if I were a fool, and I will not be made a fool of.

"I'm no one," I say, that faux cool-confidence straightening my spine and giving me strength enough to turn and walk away - leaving only my heart behind, bleeding and pounding, at Edward's feet.

* * *

If I thought for a second walking away from Edward would mean not seeing him for the rest of the night, I'd be an even bigger idiot than I thought.

Everywhere I turn, he's there. He's never alone, of course - Victoria or some other girl is always around, trying to grab his attention. When it's not them, it's Taylor or Wren. I pull Alice aside and ask her if she's seen Jasper tonight, and she says he was supposed to come but hasn't shown.

He lets Victoria sit on his lap again. He drinks amber-colored liquor on ice out of a crystal tumbler. He plays pool with his boys and laughs, and he looks at me the entire time. I look right back as I finally let Mike catch up to me, as I let him hug me and rest his hand on my waist.

There are more boys than just Mike, too. There's Kevin and Blaine, Wes and Danny. They talk in low voices to me, tell me how good I look and say they've missed me all summer. Some of them know where I was, others don't. They all touch me like they've had me before.

They haven't. None of them have. A couple of them have _told_ people they have, but it's all lies.

I wonder if Edward's heard any of them?

I'm not deluded enough to think he isn't affected by it all - not by a long shot. That ruddy pink dash of color low on his cheeks tells me everything - it's warm inside, but the Newton's are loaded and air conditioning is in no short supply. With every touch, every long and lewd look from a boy, I see Edward being pushed further and further. He's like a coil, wound too tightly.

I sip on a chilled glass bottle of cherry Coke and wait for him to snap.

I'm not being intentionally cruel. I'm only giving in equal measure to what I get. Edward lets a girl lay a hand on his chest; I let Matthew or David or Mark grip my waist. Edward does a shot of vodka with Wren; Mike sits me on his lap.

Rosalie is still too blitzed and Emmett too concerned for her to notice, but Alice does. Her perceptive violet eyes track our every movement, bouncing back and forth between us like she's watching a tennis match. She lays a cool hand on my shoulder, bending down to speak into my ear as I perch primly on Newton's thighs.

"Careful, B," she says, brushing my hair over my shoulder. "Don't push him too far."

When Mike lays a wet, sloppy hiss on the side of my neck, I can tell that I already have.

Edward slams his glass atop the red felt pool table, blindly handing his cue to Taylor, scrambling to pull out his phone.

"Allie, would you hand me my cell, please?" I say, eyes still on my boy as he taps away. It's infuriating how easy and cool he still looks, despite what I know he must be feeling.

She giggles quietly and pulls my phone from her small black, faux-fur cross-body bag.

"Now you've gone and done it," she whispers.

With Mike preoccupied, chattering away to a group of guys about fumbles and stats, I unlock my phone and check what I already knew would be there.

 _Edward - 1 New Message_

My heart threatens to leap out of my chest as I greedily take in his words:

 **Are you done yet?**

I arch a brow and this time, I refuse to look up - even as I feel his eyes on nothing but me. I reply:

 **Are you?**

Chancing a cursory glance up, I take in the new scene before me - with one man down, the pool game has disbanded. Taylor and Wren lean back against one side of the table, eagerly taking in the attention of two girls; Edward sits atop the table, facing my way, long legs hanging off the side as he types.

 **Tell that motherfucker to get his hands off you, and I will be.**

My breath catches.

"You good, Izzy?"

Mike's breath is too warm and smells of stale beer and limes. I shift, deliberating.

"I'm fine."

He doesn't ask again. Edward would've asked again.

 **Come over here and kiss me, right now, and we've got a deal.**

I know he's read it when I watch one hand tugging relentlessly through his bronze-brown locks as the other grips his phone. He looks up and meets my eyes, and I don't need him to tell me his answer - I feel it.

He's saying no.

I stand abruptly, and Mike's chair tilts backward dangerously far before he catches himself - but not without sloshing beer from his red Solo cup all over the front of his Ralph Lauren polo.

"Woah, Izz, what the fuck?" he says, trying in vain to wipe the froth from his chest. "What's your issue?"

"What's _your_ issue, Mike? Did you happen to forget about Jessica?" I say, cool as a fucking cucumber as I cross my arms and stare down at him. "Where is she tonight?"

"What… she's in San Diego with her parents for the weekend. I-I thought…" he shakes his head, too drunk to process what's going on. "You sat on my lap! You let me - "

"I didn't, actually. We've known each other for years, Newton. I didn't think you were… that you wanted…"

I'm an awful, terrible person because I _do_ know that's what he wanted. Mike Newton isn't a bad guy - a little slow sometimes, perhaps a bit of a meat head, but not a bad guy - and I'm playing him.

"Izzy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" he rushes, getting up and swaying on his feet. He puts a tentative hand on my shoulder. "We're friends, right? Shit, you're like… one of my best girlfriends." He stops, chokes a bit. "As in, girls that are friends. Friend-girls."

I smile and nod and let him pull me into a hug. I know Edward hasn't heard a word from all the way on the other side of the room. He'll see a small confrontation and this embrace, and make his own assumptions.

"Yeah, Mike. I'm your best friend-girl."

I'm not. When we graduate and go our separate ways, it'll be years before Mike ever even thinks of me. But he's drunk and sentimental, and saying things he doesn't mean. I've used him tonight, and this moment is the least I owe him.

"B, we've got to go."

Alice's voice is quick and deliberate, and I break away from Mike in a flash. She swallows and looks back to the couch - the now very _empty_ couch.

"Where's Rose and Emmett?"

She shakes her head, eyes wide, and I don't need anything more. We're out of the room and in the front yard in moments, just in time to find Emmett holding Rosalie's hair back as she vomits into Mrs. Newton's azaleas.

" _Damn it_ ," I hiss. "What happened?"

"I don't know. One minute she was fine, we were sitting back on the couch and she was telling me about her last trip to Paris. The next, she…" Emmett clears his throat, rubbing her back as another wave hits. "She said she had to go, that she needed air. I brought her out here, and then… this happened."

"We need to get her out of here," Alice says, already pulling out her keys. "Shit… she can't go home, though. Bella?"

I shake my head. "Charlie. He'll be home tonight, he never misses…"

I can't finish the thought.

Alice swears, pacing along a sand-covered path. "You're right. My parents are home, too. I don't… we can get a hotel room?"

"She can come home with me."

Everything stops the moment Emmett speaks.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Em. Your parents…"

"Won't care. I hate to break it to you, little one, but the only ones that really care about this little family feud between the four of us are the Swans, the Brandons and the Hales," Emmett says, gathering Rosalie easily into his arms and scooping her up in one swift move. "Besides, I don't think it's physically possible for my parents to turn away anyone as sick as Rosie is. My Dad is a doctor, he can take a look at her."

"He's right," I sigh. "That's the best place she could be right now. Take her, Em. Just… let us know how she is, alright?"

"Of course, Bella-Bella," he grins, all dimples and kind blue eyes. He wraps his jacket just a bit tighter around Rosalie's body, and then they're gone.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

 **Where did you go?**

Alice and I look at each other, and no works need to be spoken. We take off down the path, too weary to attempt going back to the party. My heart beats violent, begging me to turn back even as I type a quick reply.

 **Rosalie needed to leave. Your brother took her. Alice and I are heading out, too.**

Alice's Mini starts with a quiet hum, and I sink into the seat with a bone-tired sigh.

 **Wait for me? I'll take you home.**

I swallow around the bitter regret in my mouth.

 **I have something I've got to do, I'm sorry. Please be safe.**

His reply makes my heart jump.

 **For you, always. I'll be missing you.**

* * *

"Dad?"

The sound of the door shutting behind me echoes, bouncing off dark walls and polished hardwood flooring.

"Dad, are you here?"

The dull thudding of my boots is all that I can hear as I tread slowly, cautiously through this house that feels nothing like a home.

"Daddy?" I try once more, pushing open the door to his study.

Nothing.

' _You get one of your presents every year at midnight, bug_ ,' Dad smiled, setting me on his lap and tugging on my pigtail. ' _Been that way since you were a baby_.'

' _Just one_?' I'd pouted, gingerly ripping into wrapping paper the color of buttercups and sunshine.

' _Don't get smart_!' Dad said. ' _Why, is there something else you'd like instead_?'

I pursed my lips, wracking my brain for something. Finally, _finally_ \- I had it.

' _Blueberry pancakes_ ,' I'd nodded, absolutely certain. ' _I want blueberry pancakes instead_.'

Dad laughed and teased me about it, but eventually relented.

' _Alright. Every year at midnight on your birthday, you'll get blueberry pancakes. Wanna shake on it_?'

I held my little hand out and he wrapped it in his larger one, giving a small shake.

' _You promise_?'

' _I promise, bug_.'

Every year since then, without fail, Charlie had cooked up a big stack of blueberry pancakes with all the fixings. We'd sit at the kitchen table with two forks and a single glass of milk and devour the whole thing. I'd go to bed with a happy-full tummy and a smile.

Every year for ten years, without fail.

Until tonight.

* * *

I awake in the morning to Alice Brandon and cupcakes.

"A dozen Hummingbirds, straight from Magnolia's," she chirps, brushing back sleep-tangled hair from my face and kissing my cheek, right over the indent from my pillow. I peer up, taking in her sky blue sundress and the big box cupcakes poised in her arms.

"Who let you in?" I rasp, rubbing sleep from my eyes and sitting up against the headboard. I don't even think about how potentially gross it is that I'm eating before I brush my teeth, because banana-pineapple-pecan heaven is all that speaks to me.

I take a huge bite, unable to hold back my squeal of contentment.

"Clara," Alice sighs, and my bubble is burst.

My Dad isn't even home. My first inclination is to break down in tears. My second is to scream.

I do neither.

"Oh, alright," I smile, licking cream cheese icing from my fingers.

Alice isn't fooled in the slightest.

"B…"

"It's fine," I'm quick to reply, even though we both know I'm not. "Really."

But I try to be - I really, truly try to be. Alice assures me that Rosalie wishes she could've been here, but she's being carefully nursed back to health by Emmett. I don't mind, not really - Lord knows Rose has taken care of me more times than I'd care to admit. Clara offers to make us breakfast, omelettes or crepes or fruit and yogurt. Anything but pancakes.

I politely refuse, because all I want is sweets. I have three cupcakes before Alice has to forcibly pull the box from my hands, and when I tell her I want a piece of New York cheesecake with strawberry sauce, she gets the whole cake delivered for me. I have two full slices.

I'm binging. I'm aware enough to know that, at least. But if I stop for even a second - if I zone out in the middle of the third movie we've watched so far, or allow myself to think for just a moment whilst Alice paints my nails nude blush-pink - I'll break down.

She promises we'll do something this upcoming weekend - a party, bowling, swimming, whatever I want. She says all I have to do is say the word, and she'll take care of everything. I love her more and more by the second.

We alternate between my bed and the couch all morning and into the afternoon, and Alice runs her fingers through my hair and tells silly jokes and gives me the biggest, best and tightest cuddles she can. It's probably the nicest Band-Aid for my wounded heart I could've asked for, truly - her love sometimes makes me feel like I could burst. She's unconditional, my Alice, and I'm so happy to have her.

But sometimes a girl needs her Daddy.

Sometimes, though she's loathe to admit it… she needs her Mommy, too.

I wait in vain all day for something from either of them. I get a call from Rosalie, a series of messages from Mike, and I screen Jacob's calls. It isn't until Edward texts with a ' _good morning, baby girl_ ' that I realize I haven't even told him it's my birthday. Unless…

"Allie?"

"Hmm?" she says from the couch behind me, brushing out my still-damp and just-showered hair as I sit on the floor at her feet. We're in the middle of our fourth movie, ' _Roman Holiday_ '. It's been oldies all day, at my request.

"Did you… tell Edward about today?"

She freezes.

"I didn't. Did you not?"

"I didn't."

"Do you… want me to?"

I shake my head vehemently. "No. I don't want him to think I'm even more of a mess than he already does."

Alice sighs, wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her chin on the top of my head.

"Why would he think that, B?"

I play with the thin diamond bracelet on her wrist as I answer, needing to fidget with something.

"He knows about rehab. He knows about… about the panic attacks - I've had two in front of him now. He's met Jacob. I just can't… I don't want to ruin this." _Whatever this is..._

"The only way you _could_ is by not being honest with him."

She's right, I know she's right. But I'm irrational and crazy on the best of days, so why stop now?

"I'll tell him when I'm ready."

"Okay," she says, going back to brushing my hair, but I know she probably doesn't believe me.

That's okay… because I don't believe me, either.

Alice leaves just before Charlie gets home. He's earlier than I expected for a Monday, and I begin to hope.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" he says, hands on his hips as he strides into the living room. I'm so confused, the first thing I do is apologize. He shakes his head. "Bella, we don't have time for this. You know we have to be there for seven o'clock," he grumbles, turning and striding from the room.

"Be where?" I call after him, jumping up and following like a fucking lost puppy. It isn't until he turns at the door to his study that I notice he's wearing a tuxedo.

Hope blooms again. _Maybe he did remember? Are we going out?_

"The Black's Charity Gala. We've known about this for months, Isabella. Go get ready, we can't let them down."

The Black's Charity Gala.

We can't let them down.

We've known about this for months.

' _You've known about my birthday for, oh… about seventeen years?_ ' I want to shout. ' _What about letting_ me _down? What about_ me _?_ '

I say nothing. I turn, go upstairs, and pull the first dress I touch from my closet. I smooth my hair back into a loose chignon, brush on some mascara and powder. I slip on a pair of heels and tuck my phone into a little clutch.

I do not cry. I do not make a scene. It's halfway through the evening before I even realize where I am - I've gone through the motions for close to two hours, shaking hands and standing idly by whilst my father talks business and forgets I'm even there. I feel as if I'm walking in a dream.

I say nothing at all, and no one notices.

* * *

We're in some kind of ballroom and once the typically long and drawn-out dinner is over, they open two sets of double-doors and let the late September air in.

The dance floor begins to fill and I eye the doors, seeing my escape. I wonder... is there an area closed-off enough, no one will hear me if I scream?

I'm almost outside, the cool breeze just kissing my skin, when Jacob steps in front of me.

I nearly start shrieking right then and there.

His smile is cocky, his overly-cool countenance fake and derived. I can't hold myself back from comparing him to Edward.

Fuck, there _is_ no comparison - none at all.

I push past him, and he lets me go. I'm in shock and a little bit of awe until I feel him at my back, his breath against my exposed neck.

"Happy birthday, Izzy."

I ignore him.

Jacob hates it when I ignore him.

He grasps my arm and pulls, tucking us away in a secluded corner. I still do not speak.

"What, are you upset that Daddy forgot?" he scoffs. "You shouldn't be. My Dad and I have him so wound up, he can't think of anything else but the business."

I should've known. There's been talk for a while of bringing the Black's into the fold, and I've heard it's been coming to a head. Apparently, friendship and loyalty means fuck all when there's millions of dollars at stake.

I'm silent. His face screws up into a twisted frown.

"What the fuck is with you tonight? You need to loosen up a bit, Izz," he grins. "In fact…"

A waiter passes by with a tray full of tall champagne flutes, bubbly golden liquid fizzing away. Jacob snaps his fingers and he stops so quickly, I'm afraid they'll all topple over.

"Mr. Black?" the young man says, his voice cracking. "I mean, sir…"

"Leave the tray," is all Jacob says.

"But, sir, I'm not supposed to - "

"Serve to minors? If you enjoy having a job, you'll leave the tray."

Jacob reaches into his wallet and pulls out a crisp Benjamin Franklin, tucking it conspicuously into the waiter's palm. With a small bow and a nod of his head, he places the tray on a small empty table just to the right of us before briskly taking his leave.

Jacob turns, raising both eyebrows and gesturing to the glasses with a flourish.

"Libations for the lady?"

Silence.

"If you're scared I'll tell Charlie, don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

 _Even if you did, why would he care?_

"Come on, Izzy. Live a little," he says, picking up a glass and holding it out to me.

I take it. He smiles. I drain it in three quick gulps.

 _If I'm going to Hell…_

* * *

"Hello?"

"The stars are beautiful tonight, you know?"

" _Jesus_ , Bella… I've been trying to reach you all day."

"I love the stars. Have you ever been to the Griffiths Observatory? I'd love to take you someday."

"The… what? Bella, are you okay?"

"I wish you were here right now. It's cold tonight, Edward. How silly is that? Los Angeles is never, ever cold but it's cold tonight of all nights. I'd ask you for a hug if you were with me. Would you give me one?"

"Baby, where are you?"

"Oh _no, no, no_. You can't come here. Jacob is here, and he'll be very angry if you do."

"Jacob is… _fuck_. Isabella, _where are you?_ "

I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut _tight, tight, tight_.

"Don't call me that!" I yell, and my voice echoes out into the night.

Static, and his heavy breathing. I take another sip of champagne, and it just tastes like sugar water now - one glass after another, after another. I stopped tasting the alcohol after my fifth one.

"Bella… what are you doing with Jacob Black?"

"It's my birthday today, Edward. Did you know that?" I say and _God, my tongue is heavy_. I giggle and let out a little snort, because… " _No_ , you didn't, silly me. I never even told you."

He swallows roughly, and I can hear it. It makes my skin tingle.

"It's your birthday?"

"Mhm," I hum, leaning back against a railing and taking another long sip. _Sugar water, bubbly sugar water_. "I'm the big one-seven. Seventeen… see, that sounds better, doesn't it? Older? Will you kiss me in front of our friends now, Edward?"

"Bella…"

"No, no, you won't. It's okay, I understand," I say, then I hiccup and shake my head. It makes me feel like I'm _spinning, spinning, spinning_ so I do it again. "No, I don't, actually. I want to kiss you all the time, and I don't care who's watching. I'd kiss you right now if you were here."

"And where is _here_ , love?"

"Uh, uh!" I say, wagging my finger even though he can't see it. "Who's a sneak-baby now, huh? Trying to figure out where I am…"

"Bella, why are you with Jacob? Where are Alice and Rosalie? Where's your father?"

I snort loudly.

"My _father_ …" I say, and my tongue feels like it's coated in venom. "My _father_ forgot it was even my birthday. Seventeen years, and he chooses today of all days to forget I exist."

He sighs, shaky-rough, and I polish off the rest of my champagne.

"Oh, Bella… I'm sure he didn't forget."

"He did," I hiccup again. "I knew he would when we didn't have pancakes last night. Every year… every _fucking_ year, Edward, since my sixth birthday, we've had blueberry pancakes at midnight. That's why I had to leave you last night. I didn't want to, but I thought… I thought my Daddy would be there when I got home and he wasn't."

He sniffs and something in my chest lurches so painfully, I stumble. I land on my backside on the cool tile below me, resting back against wrought iron fencing. Bushes brush against my back and neck and arms, and everything smells like roses.

"And you know what… you know what really fucking gets me, Edward? What really makes my… makes my heart just _ache_?" I choke, and my cheeks are wet. I press a hand against my chest, right over where it beats.

"What, baby?" he rasps, his voice broken.

"He remembered that today was this stupid fucking charity gala… _for the Black's_. He told me we've known about it for months, and I should've remembered. He was upset when he came home and I wasn't dressed already."

" _Fuck_ , Bella. I'm so sorry."

My chest is so, so tight and it feels like there isn't enough air in the entire world for my lungs. I gasp and wipe roughly at my face.

"I love it when you say that," I breathe. "You say it after we kiss sometimes. And I love when you call me baby. I love the way you taste, the way you smell, how you feel…"

"Hey, listen to me. I need… I need you to tell me where you are. You're in trouble right now, sweetheart. I have to help you."

"I think I'm obsessed with you, Edward Cullen," I sigh, smiling up at the sky. I wasn't lying when I said the stars are nice tonight. They'll never be as big and bright and beautiful as they are back in Forks, but they're still _so pretty_. "I never want to kiss anyone else for the rest of my life but you."

"I want that, too."

I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my wrist.

"Isn't it so funny, then…" I swallow, bile rising quickly at what I have to tell him. "Isn't it funny that… that I'm saying that, but someone else kissed me tonight?"

" _What_?" he snaps, and _oh God_ … I love it when he's angry. "Who… fuck, don't answer that. I already know."

"He was being so nice to me. I was on my third… no, fourth… no, no, I think it was my fifth glass of champagne, and he was letting me talk about you and Charlie… and my Mom. He knows all about her, you know? We were just talking and drinking, and he was making me laugh, and then… and then he leaned over, and he kissed me."

" _Motherfucker_ ," he growls. "Are you drunk right now? Is that why you sound like this?"

"I think I am… I _know_ I am. Are you angry with me? Please don't be mad. I was just so _sad_ …"

"I'm not mad at _you_ , I'm mad at… son of a _bitch_. He got you drunk and then he kissed you. Don't you see how fucked up that is?"

"I know, I know. I walked away, though. I told him I only want you, but he said I was being foolish. He said that you're ashamed of me, that's why you won't kiss me in front of anyone else. Is that true, Edward?"

"No, it's not. Of course it's not, Bella."

"So, why won't you, then?"

"It's not that simple."

"It is, though! I didn't like seeing those girls all over you last night. If they knew you were mine, they wouldn't be."

"I am yours, can't you see? It's fucking… impossible and crazy, but I am. We don't need anyone else to see it to make it true."

"Yes, we do. I've never… I've never had a _real_ boyfriend, you know? I know you'd be a good one, though."

"I'd be the best, baby. I still can be. We just can't tell - "

"You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything," I say, my voice thin and _wow,_ there really is no air out here tonight. "I have to go. I have to… I need to find Jacob."

"No! No, don't - "

"It's okay. You don't want me right now, and that's fine. I can wait."

"That's not… Bella, _please_."

"When's your birthday, Edward?"

" _Bella_ …"

"When is it? Tell me."

A long pause, and I think he's hung up. I check. He hasn't, so I wait.

"June 20th."

"June 20th... I swear, I'll always remember. I'll never, ever forget it. _"_

He whimpers and hot, fat tears stream in rivulets down my cheeks.

" _Please_ tell me where you are. I can't... I _can't_..."

The stars twinkle like so many diamonds, and I wish I could just float away. I'd take him with me, though. I don't want to be anywhere he's not.

"I have to go, but I'll see you soon. Don't worry about me, okay? I'll be fine."

I hang up and the cold ground calls to me, my overheated skin begging for relief. I curl up tight and dream of constellations - Geminis and Virgos, my blazing-bright boy and me.

* * *

 **yikes... don't be mad? full disclosure: i cried whilst writing the pancakes scene, because i'm an emotional mess.**

 **first and foremost - the response to last chapter was just... unbelievable. _thank you, thank you, thank you_ to everyone who reviewed and pm'd me. you're all angels, and i'd eat blueberry pancakes at midnight with each and every one of you. mwah.**

 **this week's fic rec is an old fave: ' _my sweet variable_ ' by lifeinthesnow. you want mystery, intrigue and romance all wrapped up in a quasi-dystopian bow? an uber-intelligent edward and bella that will completely knock your socks off? a super-solid plot and heart-achingly powerful love story that will make you cry (i promise)? you got it, dude. (fun fact: i don't actually like 'full house') this is a fic that will leave you wondering how in the hell it hasn't been published as a full-fledged novel. try it, i know you'll love it.**

 **until next time, you can catch me on twitter where i flit around talking about coffee and rob and ice cream. (haagen-dazs and i had an interesting conversation the other day - yes, the actual verified haagen-dazs twitter... i don't even know). i'm also on tumblr, where i answer your questions, post story aesthetics and inspo and ( _gasp!_ ) sometimes talk about my next upcoming wip. i'm _bellaofthebarre_ on both. xx - b**

 _ **chapter 5 mixtape:**_  
 **track 1 - 'disarm' by the smashing pumpkins**  
 **track 2 - 'high' by sir sly ( _the party scene_ )  
track 3 - 'sugar water' by cibo matto**


	8. stars: part i

' _I will remember your face, 'cause I am still in love with that place.  
When the stars are the only things we share,  
_ _will you be there?_ '

'Atlas Hands' - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

* * *

For three days, it seems as if Bella Swan has disappeared off the face of the Earth.

I start to wonder if she ever even existed at all by the second day - if all of this was just a figment of my imagination, if I'm losing it and I have no idea. Every call I send to Alice goes straight to voicemail, and Jasper won't answer my texts. He's never at the practice space when I'm there. Emmett won't tell me anything, either - when I eventually _do_ track him down.

I live with the fucking guy. You'd think it might be easy to keep track of him.

In four days, I see him three times: twice in the morning, running out the door on his way to school; once, grabbing his football gear before heading off to practice.

When I ask Mom and Dad where he's been, they look reluctant to say it - whether they're reluctant about where he's been or reluctant about telling _me_ in particular, I have no clue.

"I believe he's been at his girlfriend's house, son."

I choke on my Frosted Flakes.

"He's at Rosalie's? On a school night?" I scoff, my spoon landing in the bowl with a definitive ' _clunk_.' "We weren't even allowed to spend a school night at a _friend's_ house back in Chicago. What changed?"

"He doesn't spend the night, Edward, don't be ridiculous," Mom scoffs. "He's always back by curfew."

And she's right. I stay up that night to check. Emmett rolls up at precisely eleven o'clock PM, looking disheveled and grumpy. I fly down the stairs, meeting him in the front foyer. He looks up at me as I approach, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, that's right," I say, arms crossed. "Can't avoid me now, can you?"

"Get out of the way, Edward. I have to get to bed."

"No fucking way, Em," I snap, my panic and worry coming to an absolute head. "You know something I don't. I need answers."

Emmett throws his football gear down beside the front door and shifts his feet. "Answers to what?"

I inhale sharply, clenching my fists and trying desperately to reign in this completely all-consuming rage I've had since Monday night.

"Where is Bella Swan?"

Emmett narrows his eyes, and now it's his turn to cross his arms over his chest.

"Why do you care?"

I clench my jaw and try to breathe, but my heart feels like it's being squeezed like a fucking grapefruit. I can't breathe and I won't be able to, not until I…

 _Not until I see her again._

"I fucking care, alright? Just… please, Emmett. _Please_."

Maybe it's the way everything about me is tense, or maybe it's the sound of my voice. Maybe it's the wild, crazed look in my eyes or the way I can't seem to catch my breath… whatever it is, Emmett relents.

"She missed school on Monday and Tuesday, but she was back Wednesday."

"What about today?"

Emmett looks away, scratching at his non-existent stubble.

"Yeah, man. She's been there, both days."

The breath I heave is nothing but complete relief.

"Why'd you want to know?" Emmett asks again, stepping around me to climb the stairs.

"Mom will kill you if you leave your shit out like this," I grumble in lieu of a response. Emmett snorts.

"Put it away for me and I won't tell Rosie you're asking about her best friend."

It takes me three tries to scrub the smell of sweat and grass off my hands.

* * *

 _ **Come outside.**_

Almost as soon as I send the text, my mind is whirling. What the fuck am I thinking? I can't just show up at her school and demand she _come outside_. What if she's not even here? She could be out - a doctor's appointment, or a trip to the dentist's.

Barring all that… _what the fuck am I thinking_ , because I'm chasing after this teenage girl like a lovesick puppy. I am _not_ this guy.

But she's got me so spun…

If she asked me to jump, I have no doubt I'd say ' _how high?_ '

What an absolutely terrifying thought.

I'm strongly considering just hopping back in my car and peeling out of there when the front doors open. I look up, and my heart fucking stops.

There's Baby in all her berries and cream, cheeks and lips the shade of ripe cherries. She's a long, soft-looking, knit white cardigan over an oversize Soundgarden tee, tight black leggings and Docs. Her hair is loose and shiny, the color of espresso, and I already know it feels like silk.

She's like my own personal dream girl, like she was made just for me to lose my fucking mind over.

She's biting her lip, chewing on plush pink softness relentlessly, and I remember how she tasted… sex and candy, sugar and spice and everything nice. My body aches with the need to have her again, and I grasp the door of the car to stop myself from taking those three strides toward her.

The distance between us feels like a massive expanse, and she looks so sheepish…

"Hey there, stranger," I say, and her eyes are wide as cherry pies as she looks at me. Her lip still between her teeth, she smiles.

And then she's running.

I catch her easily, arms wrapped tight as I dare around her waist as she clings to my neck for dear Goddamn life. My body feels like it's made of white-hot heat, heart thrilling at the way she clutches me and breathes into my neck - like she needs me. Maybe as much as I need her.

Seems a bit impossible, but hey - stranger things have happened.

Baby smells just the same, like strawberries and vanilla, and when she kisses me I can taste her cherry Chap-stick. It drives me absolutely wild.

"I missed you," she whispers, and her voice travels straight down my spine and settles like a forest fire in my lower belly. "I'm sorry."

"You scared the shit out of me, girl," I breathe into her neck and bite back the urge to fucking cry or something, because that's how she makes me feel. Wild and crazy, emotional.

Breathless, like I'm walking on a tightrope.

"I know," she sighs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I can feel her tears, warm and wet against the side of my neck, and that just won't do.

I pull back a bit and kiss her again, and she gasps into my mouth. I swallow her breath like I'm a dying man in need of oxygen and she's the only source of air for miles. I taste her and take from her like the asshole that I am, and she gives me all of her right back with everything she's got.

My Baby is fragile and soft, the most precious flower… but, she's also strong. She's wit and intelligence, a quiet resolve and delicate bravery. I don't know everything she's been through, but it's hardened some of her softest edges. I can see it all over her.

Her kisses are velvet and when I pull back and brush hair from her face, taking her in, they're all puffy-pink and thoroughly kissed. Knowing _I've_ done that to her…

I groan, hiding my face in her hair, brushing my lips against the creamy skin of her neck as I speak.

"Go somewhere with me?"

I don't _tell_ her to, I don't _force_ her. I ask her, I give her the choice. Baby always needs a choice, the choice that _boy_ took away from her…

I can scarcely think his name.

"Anywhere," she whimpers, tilting her head back and exposing the smooth, perfect column of her neck to me.

In one quick movement, I lift her completely off the ground, cradling her carefully in my arms. Bella squeals and throws her head back, laughing. The sound makes my heart beat painfully hard against love-locked skin and bone.

"Talk about sweeping a girl off her feet, Cullen. Literally."

I nuzzle her cheek and plant tiny kisses over any inch of skin I can touch, and I know this girl makes me act fucking ridiculous... but I really can't seem to care. Not when she's all soft and warm and Bella and Baby girl in my arms, not when I place her as gently as I can in the passenger seat of my car and watch her pull a pair of cat-eye sunglasses from her bag, sliding them on and leveling me with a heartbreaking smile.

Not when I step back and see my dream girl in my dream car, all soft-focus and shiny, like a movie.

I ask if she needs anything before we go - a drink, snacks. Anything. I'd give her anything, and I ask because I know she won't. Bella is polite, almost to a fault. I get the distinct feeling she'd rather die of thirst than ask for even a glass of water. I start driving, heading toward a destination I know she's got on the brain before she even says it.

Sheepishly, she tells me she's been craving a Cherry-Vanilla Coke. I tell her she's got a problem, that her sweet tooth will make her teeth rot. She flashes me a perfectly straight, bright pearly-white smile and I even love the shape of her fucking _teeth_.

At a Sonic Drive-In, she gets her Coca-Cola and asks for two Maraschino cherries inside. I buy her a large and steal sips, and for some reason I'm jealous as hell of that bright red straw she keeps chewing on.

 _Jesus, Cullen. Jealous of a straw? Reel it in, asshole._

I lean over and kiss her quick; _one, two, three_ times in rapid succession. Her lips are cool and sweet and taste just as advertised - cherry-vanilla-Bella heaven.

* * *

We hit the road, cruising along the Pacific Coast Highway, heading from Santa Monica to Zuma Beach in Malibu. On one side, multi-million dollar mega-mansions dot along the cliff's edge; the other is beaches and beyond that, endless blue-green water.

Baby is curled up low in her seat, knees tucked to her chest - I reach over and tickle one of them, and she giggles and looks at me over her cat-eyes.

"Take off your shoes."

She arches a brow, a sly smile on her rosebud lips. "Are you about to lay a foot fetish on me, Edward?"

It's not what I expected her to say. Nothing she says ever is.

I throw my head back and laugh, and she reaches over and tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. It's so easy and natural, like we've done it a million times before. She keeps her hand there and I watch from the corner of my eye as she unties her laces and toes off her boots, arranging them neatly below her.

She tugs on my hair a bit to get my attention, and I look to see her wearing those fucking adorable cherry socks again.

"What now, Dr. Scholl's?"

I snort, nodding to the front of the car. "Socks off and feet on the dash, baby."

She gapes, grabbing my hair just so, and I bite back a groan.

"You _do_ have a foot fetish!"

I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses, and she ' _tsk_ 's as if she saw it. She probably did.

"I don't, scout's honor. I just want you to be comfortable," I smile. "And… ever since I knew I wanted a convertible, I've always wanted to see a beautiful girl with her feet up on my dash as we cruise along the highway. Indulge teenage-me's testosterone daydreams, won't you?"

It's her turn to roll her eyes, and I see it because she wants me to - tilting her glasses down and facing me as she does so. Bella bends, pulling off her socks delicately, one by one.

"What if my feet are ugly?" she says, her voice like sweet honey. "What if I have gnarly toes?"

I laugh like I do at everything she says, because I'm a love-struck-dumb fool. But also because she's adorable and witty and funny, and she doesn't even know it.

"You won't."

And she doesn't. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't have a foot fetish but if I did, her's would be the standard for all others to live up to - dainty feet and small toes painted a deep navy blue.

"Damn it," I breathe, shaking my head, a perma-smile on my lips.

"What?" she says, already smirking as she fiddles with the music on my phone.

"Even your toes are cute. Is there anything about you that isn't perfect?"

Her heart-stopping smile falters, and I'm absolutely kicking myself.

"You don't know the half of it…" she sighs, and I don't think I'm supposed to hear it, but I do.

Before I can reply, the tunes are going. It's Zeppelin and The Smashing Pumpkins, Stone Temple Pilots and Benjamin Francis Leftwich. Her hand surfs the wind to 'Going to California', and I try to keep my eyes on the road but she's… so fucking _everything_ , I can't help but stare.

Her hair flies around her face in inky twisted tendrils, lips mouthing along to the words and when Robert Plant croons, ' _to find a queen without a king, they say she plays guitar and cries and sings_ …' I wonder if that line reminds her of herself like it reminds me of her.

I doubt it. Bella seems to, unbelievably, _never_ think of herself. It would be admirable if it wasn't downright detrimental to her own well-being.

A few miles later, I pull off to a sandy, grassy patch of gravel with a well-worn path straight down to a small stretch of beach. I park, turn off the car, take off my sunglasses and am up and at her door before she can even reach down to her shoes.

"Those won't be necessary," I smirk, reaching in and wrapping my arms tightly around her.

Her small body is warm, soft in all the right places, and she lets out the smallest of squeals before nestling against me with an ease that still seems impossible. Her legs wrap around my waist, arms around my neck and cheek against my cheek as we look out toward the water, her sunglasses hooked on the neck of her tee.

The waves are picture-perfect, frothy white crashing in even intervals against the shoreline. I meander down the path and my Chucks sink into beige-white sand.

"Are you sure we're allowed to be here?" Bella mumbles and though she's voicing a concern, her voice is all relaxed contentment. "There's a house over there. This seems kind of a like a _private_ beach…"

I turn my head quickly and plant a quick kiss to her sun-warmed cheek, and then playfully suck on it a bit until she giggles and lightly pinches the skin of my neck. I pull back and rest our faces against each other once more.

"It is," I nod. "It belongs to my family."

It's Baby's turn to pull back now, eyebrows raised. She looks over my shoulder, toward the house, and I know she likes what she sees when her cheeks warm the most delicious shade of pink.

The Cullens own multiple beach houses, but this one has always been my favorite - likening more to a Cape Cod-style cottage, with a porch that wraps all the way from the front to the back, all done in white and dusty blue. Cream-colored Adirondack chairs sit on the deck facing the water, and I can still see the birdhouse I built with Grandpa Cullen hanging just beside the back doors.

"Can we go inside?" Bella asks, and her blush deepens.

There is nothing I want more in that moment than to run as fast at my legs will carry us, lay Baby girl down on the small bed in my equally as small room inside that cozy cabin, and do absolutely wicked things to her. I know she wants the same things I do.

That's precisely why I didn't bring the keys with me today.

I tell her I don't have them, and she purses her lips briefly - the only sign of her disappointment, still staying polite as ever - and says, "maybe next time?"

It's a question, like perhaps there might not be a next time. The thought is so ridiculous, my only response is to kiss her crazy.

We pull away and I lower her gently to the sand, licking my lips to steal another taste of her. She looks down, watching her toes sinking down with a smile.

"I haven't been to the beach in years."

"What?" I sputter, incredulous. Bella links our fingers together, swinging them between us as she strolls closer to the water.

"Mhm," she nods, and I love it when she does that - her little hums of affirmation. "It's like… when something is right in front of you, you tend to take it for granted, you know? I never go to the beach, because I know it'll always be there. That, and the ones closest to Beverly Hills leave much to be desired."

"Oh?" I ask, already smirking at her tone.

"Indeed. I'm sure the ratio of grains of sand to broken beer bottles on Venice Beach is nearly 50/50."

My laugh is loud and strong, and the warmth that spreads through me as she turns and rests a hand against my stomach, smiling up at me and feeling me as I chuckle… it's like hot chocolate on a cold winter's day.

With marshmallows.

And whipped cream.

Yeah… _that_ good.

We inch ever-closer to the water, and I stop.

"Baby, you'll get your clothes wet if you…"

My voice fades out. My brain shuts down. I have literal fucking tunnel-vision going on because as easy as pie, Bella lets go of my hand and bends, shimmying her leggings over her hips and down smooth, silky-looking, creamy legs. Her t-shirt falls just past mid-thigh and looks like a dress on her.

"Why would you ever bother wearing leggings with that, when… when…"

Bella smiles, chewing on her bottom lip and my entire body is buzzing. She hands me her balled-up bottoms. I shift, my jeans suddenly uncomfortably tight around my… well, it doesn't take a fucking _genius_ to figure it out.

"School dress code. No hemlines that hit above-the-knee."

"Above-the-knee. Right," I nod, then swallow. Every single action feels like I have to tell my brain to execute it before I do it.

I feel a little ridiculous because they're just legs, for fuck's sake. What are we, living in the Victorian ages? I'm about to cream my Goddamn jeans over a pair of gams.

But they're not just _any_ gams.

They're _Bella Swan's_ gams, and that makes all the difference.

Before I can even think to react, she's gracefully tip-toeing into the water, holding her tee-turned-dress up, bunched into her fists. A wave rolls through that hits her legs and sprays salty sea-water into her face and hair, and she gasps and gapes and giggles.

I melt - I absolutely fucking _melt_.

I step back a few paces and sink down onto the sun-warmed sand, leaning back on my hands and watching her.

She's radiant, her dark hair pulling shades of red in the light that I didn't think existed, and as she splashes and kicks, the sea-salt begins curling her smooth locks with beachy waves. In the sun, her complexion is rose-petals and cream, kissed with warm peach. Her smile is perfect, and her beauty is classic yet all her own - Old Hollywood meets absolutely stellar.

In this moment, in the sun and sand and looking more open and less guarded than I've ever seen her… she looks just as she should: young and carefree and beautiful. She's certainly two out of those three - it's the carefree part that's tripping me up.

She walks around with what looks to be the weight of her very heavy world on her shoulders. Right now, in this moment, I can't see the girl everyone else does. I can't see the Izzy doing blow off a marble counter top, or the drunk Isabella kissing Jacob Black at a charity gala. I can't see the girl holed up in rehab, fighting her demons and sometimes winning, sometimes failing. I can't even see the Bella I saw last week, an arched brow and pouty lips, a siren and a temptress from across the room.

I'm not sure which one is the 'real' her. Perhaps they all are? I may be hoping against hope, but it seems as if the only time she's ever really _just her_ is when she's with me.

She's _Baby_ when we're alone together.

My fingers itch to touch her and I realize, with a jolt, that I can. Right now, she's not anyone else's but mine.

 _Mine._

The thought has me on my feet, brushing sand off my hands and chasing after her as she comes out of the water and spots me, turning and running down the sand, kicking it up as she goes. It has me wrapping my arms around her and spinning her in a circle as she squeals and laughs, planting kisses on her salty-sweet skin. It has me turning her, sinking my hands into her hair and lacing my fingers through silk-soft strands as I kiss her.

 _Mine._

I want Bella Swan to be mine, and mine alone.

The thought is absolutely terrifying for many reasons, but one in particular stands out:

I'm not sure if she ever will be.

* * *

Baby's got a sweet tooth.

I knew it the first day I met her. Not at Muldoon's but in Carmel-by-the-Sea, all those years ago.

I don't know how much of my allowance I spent on ice cream cones for her, but it was certainly enough for Brooke Matthews to dump me as quick as she could when I told her I couldn't buy her a Klondike bar in town the day before she left for the summer.

Actually, that was a lie. I certainly _could_ have bought her a Klondike bar, I just didn't _want_ to. Even then, I was hopelessly and foolishly devoted and loyal to the girl currently sitting across from me in this diner booth.

Bella leans, elbow resting against the tabletop as she delicately holds the red-striped straw of her strawberry milkshake between her index finger and thumb and sips, looking up at me from under impossibly long lashes. The other is stretched out, fingertips tracing the lines of the veins on the back of my hand and then she flips it, tracing the ones on my wrist and up my elbow.

I can't hold back my shiver. She notices and smiles, chewing on her straw - again.

I smile behind the rim of my coffee cup, taking a sip and looking out the window. We've wound up right by Zuma Beach. I teased Bella for her amazement, having been a resident of Southern California much longer than I have and having never been to Point Dume before.

"You're the cutest thing I've ever seen."

My eyes snap back to her, eyebrows raised.

I scoff. "First of all, cute is mighty emasculating, baby…"

Bella's little boot-clad foots kicks mine under the table, and I smirk.

"Shut up, Edward. It is not. There's nothing emasculating about being adorable," she insists, and then purses her lips to the side. "Okay, maybe it doesn't _sound_ all that great, but…"

"What about me is so cute? Do tell," I tease, nudging her foot right back and holy fuck, we're actually playing footsies right now.

Bella smiles, looking down into her milkshake. Her brow wrinkles a little bit as she thinks, and I lean forward and count the faint freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. When she looks back up at me, I'm not prepared for the overwhelming warmth and sincerity in her deep-brown eyes.

"Your hair and the way it's always so disheveled, no matter how hard you try to tame it. Your eyes, and that completely unreal green. Your long lashes... I'm almost jealous of them, you know? Your nose, and the little bump right on the bridge. Your lips, they're absolutely perfect; pink and a little pouty and irresistibly kissable," she says. "Your body is… incredible, but I'm sure you already know that."

"Is it? Go on…" I try to joke, but it comes out sounding breathy and honestly, that makes sense - because my chest is heaving a bit, my breath catching at the raw intensity in Bella's gaze.

"No one likes a narcissist," she laughs, before continuing. "You're the most gorgeous thing I'll ever see in my life, but that's not even all of what makes you so attractive. It's… it's your heart. It's you and the way you care, the way you ask me before you do something. The way you touch me, steady me, hold my hand. The way your eyes soften right before you kiss me. _Your heart_ is so painfully beautiful."

She finishes, licking her lips and looking down at our now intertwined fingers, and I could quite honestly fucking cry. This girl makes me want to break down, let everything anyone has ever told me about keeping my emotions inside be pushed away, and...

 _Oh my God._

I think I'm about to tell her I'm falling for her.

"Are you two looking to order some food to go with those drinks?"

 _Fuck._

The waitress sidles up to our table, looking way too much like Norma from 'Twin Peaks' in her retro diner uniform.

I clear my throat, choking down this sudden, unbelievable swell of emotion to answer.

"Baby? Did you…"

"No," Bella says, pulling her hand away and shaking her head and just like that, her walls are up. I can physically see it, and it makes my heart hurt. "I'm okay, thank you."

"You sure? We've got the best pancakes this side of the PCH," the waitress smiles and bless her, she just doesn't know that ' _pancakes_ ' were the one buzzword she should have avoided.

Bella's shoulders tense, and she pushes her milkshake away.

"You haven't eaten anything all day, Bella. How about something small?" I say, keeping my voice low.

"I ate earlier. I'm not hungry," she says, voice shaky and weak. Her eyes are wide as she looks between the waitress and me, back to the waitress, then back to me. "Please... drop it."

So, I do.

I'm not hungry at all but even if I were, I wouldn't order a single thing. Not with the way Bella is looking, staring out the window with an unbearably lost look in her eyes. I ask Norma - though I think her name is actually Debora - for the check, and she shuffles away with a confused expression.

"Hey," I call, trying to get Bella back from wherever she's gone. I reach forward and grab her hand, shaking it a bit. "Hey, come back."

She looks at me. My breath catches.

"What just happened there?" I ask, but I think I already know.

"Nothing. I'm just not hungry," she says, but her voice is flat.

And then I _know_ , and my stomach drops to the soles of my fucking shoes.

Baby has an eating disorder.

On top of everything else she could possibly be dealing with, there's this, too? God, will the universe ever cut this girl a fucking break?

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, eyes wide, and there are enough clues here for me to see she's about to panic. I don't wait for the check to come - I reach into my wallet, pull out a bill and throw it to the table.

I take Bella's hand and pull her from the booth, my arm around her shoulder as we walk toward the doors. I can just barely make out the waitress calling after me, " _but, sir! Your change!_ "

I don't falter for a second. I don't stop moving until I've got Bella back in the passenger's seat - I might as well call it _her_ seat now, because she's branded it just like she's branded me - and I'm starting the car.

"I…" she sighs, her voice breaking.

"Will you come to my place?" I ask, desperate to change the subject but also desperate to have her in my house. In my room. I want her touching my stuff, sitting on my bed, leaving any little piece of her I can get.

She blinks those big, brown doe-eyes at me in amazement.

"What?"

"Come over? I don't have my own place yet, so I'm staying at my parent's."

"I… I'm not sure they'd like having me there."

I'm confused as hell for a second, because why? Why would anyone hate having Bella around? Then, I realize.

"My parents don't care that you're a Swan. Honestly," I smile, and check the time. "They won't even be there, actually. Mom's at work and Dad is up North for a conference. Even Emmett is at practice until late."

Bella purses her lips for a moment and then slowly, breathtakingly… she smiles.

* * *

"Wow…"

I hang back, watching Bella as she takes in The Cullen Estate with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. She delicately steps up the front porch stairs, her fingertips trailing along cream-painted wood, and turns to me.

"Those chairs look like they're straight from a movie... ' _Gone with the Wind_ '," she smiles.

I can only grin back, at a loss for words with the way she looks right now. The sun is dipping low over the horizon, bathing everything in that indescribable golden-yellow glow. Her hair is a halo, sea-waved and wind-blown wild. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are cherries and wine.

And she's at my house.

Seeing her on the front porch is enough to send me into a fit, and the thought of her in my room… at my piano…

I make quick work of the porch steps, planting a kiss on her cheek as I pass by to open the door - she laughs and I throw her a wink and hold it open, motioning for her to step inside first.

She looks straight up at the crystal and wrought iron chandelier hanging above the foyer and smiles.

"We have one of those, too," she says. "But it looks gaudy in my house. Here, it looks… it looks like it belongs."

"It's very old," I explain, shutting the door behind us. "Been here for as long as I can remember."

Bella makes that little humming noise I love so much and steps in further, taking in everything: the carefully curated art on the walls; the wide, winding staircase; a little further down, the huge, open sitting room.

When Mom and Dad inherited the Estate, they kept the majority of what was there previously but updated it. Instead of the muted browns and greens of years past the interior is now done in soft greys and ivory shades, with the furniture matching perfectly.

"My Mom loves interior decorating," I explain, as Bella walks through the sitting room and into the kitchen. We're edging ever-closer to the back of the house, precisely where I want her, and she doesn't even know it.

"She's incredible at it," she sighs, turning to smile briefly at me before going back to admiring the kitchen. "I'm sure your housekeeper has a very easy time working here."

"Housekeeper? No, we don't have one."

Bella stops, turns and gapes at me. "You… don't? Then, who does all the cooking? The cleaning?"

I furrow my brows. "My Mom. Why, doesn't your's?"

It was the wrong thing to say. I really wish I knew why, but it was definitely the wrong thing to say.

"No," Bella rasps, clearing her throat and turning forward again. "She doesn't."

I let the moment pass, sensing that isn't a topic that's really up for discussion at the moment, but store it in my mind for later. I show her the family room, the games room and Dad's study. She gapes at the library and runs her fingers reverently over the spines of books. I lead her to the back doors and show her the pool and all the land beyond it.

Finally, _finally_ … I show her my piano room.

Baby gasps as we walk into the wide, open space. Her eyes are drawn immediately to my pride and joy: isolated from the rest of the space, where the walls curve in a perfect semi-circle, the floors slightly elevated, sits my Steinway Model B - a glossy black grand, not a single scratch.

The sunset streams through the windows surrounding it, making it a center point, and all I can think of is how beautiful Bella would look perched on the bench beside me.

So, I take her hand and pull her forward. I settle her on the seat and step back.

And it's absolutely everything I imagined... but _better_.

" _Jesus_ …" I choke, running a hand roughly through my hair. "I could write symphonies about the way you look right now."

Bella tugs at the end of her cardigan sleeve, tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

She's nervous.

I step forward into the alcove and kneel in front of her with my hands on her knees - and then I'm slowly, cautiously, gently running my hands up and down her legging-covered thighs as I gaze up at her and she looks down at me. Her hands go into my hair, fingernails tingling deliciously along my scalp, and I close my eyes.

"What?" she breathes.

"You're not real," I laugh, shaking my head.

She snorts a bit, a delicate little sound, and leans her forehead against mine. My eyes flutter closed, and she kisses my eyelids. She kisses my temple, my forehead and then finally, my lips.

I break away, leaving little pecks along her cheek and down her neck before I stand and maneuver us quickly. I sit on the bench and pull her over my lap, sitting her between my thighs, and just like it's always been this way - like we've been doing it forever - she leans back against my chest, rests her hands on my forearms as I poise my fingers over the keys, and sighs.

It's all contentment, all ease and relaxation and I feel it, too. It's like she's finally where she's always supposed to have been.

We don't say a word as I play, and they're not needed. She doesn't have to tell me that the way I play a Chopin nocturne piece gives her chills - I can feel them. Or how she likes the way my fingers dance across the keys as I play Tchaikovsky - when she brushes her fingers over my own and smiles, I know.

I play one of my favorite Debussy pieces, and she cries. When it's over, I wrap both arms around her waist and bend, hiding my face in her neck as I kiss her skin. She wipes her tears with one hand, and the other goes into my hair.

She doesn't have to say a word - I know she loved it.

* * *

Baby's on my bed, and I'm trying not to lose it - really, I am - but she's making it nearly impossible. She doesn't even know that she is, and that's the deliciously infuriating part.

She's cross-legged in the middle with this shy, gorgeous little smile and I'm kind of a nervous wreck.

I told her I had a birthday present for her and she insisted she didn't need anything, not to spend any money on her. I told her I didn't spend a dime, and she relaxed - but, now I feel silly.

Will she even remember it? Will she think it's lame? I should have spent money on her - I _wanted_ to. She deserves it, and more.

It's too late to back out now. I head to my closet and find it, folded neatly exactly where I left it for this very moment. I grab it and hide it behind my back as I make my way to her.

"Uh oh," she smiles. "Why do you look so nervous?"

I consider lying, but it's almost impossible around her.

"I am. I'm worried you won't remember."

Her perfectly-shaped brows furrow. "Remember what?"

 _Bite the bullet, Cullen._

I sit down on the bed beside her and hold my present out. She gasps and reaches out to touch it, then quickly pulls her hand back.

"I remember," she breathes, and my heart feels like it could burst.

"You do?"

Bella nods, and I swallow - hard.

Carmel, the summer of my fourteenth year - the last summer I saw her. Fourth of July. The beach was absolutely packed, the barge out on the water prepped for a spectacular fireworks show. It was unseasonably chilly that night, especially that close to the sea.

Emmett and I were full of burgers and s'mores, meandering along the beach in search of my friends. I was a little annoyed at having my little brother tagging along with me, thinking of Brooke Matthews and her newly-acquired boobs like the horny little asshole I was.

' _Edward, I don't wanna hang out with your friends. Can I go find the girls_?'

I didn't have to ask who he was talking about - I already knew.

Thinking it might save me from having to babysit Emmett all night, I relented. We weaved through the crowds, eyes peeled for blonde, black and brunette. Finally, he grabbed my arm and pointed.

' _Look, look_!' he'd crowed. ' _There they are_!'

' _Keep your voice down, would you_?' I'd sighed, embarrassed at the volume of his voice, following his finger to where he was indicating.

There they were, indeed - on a lifeguard tower. The blonde was standing, leaning against the wooden railing and looking into the crowd; the raven-haired girl was perched atop the banister, leaning back dangerously far; and the brunette was below them, sitting with her legs dangling off, swinging back and forth…

And she was clearly absolutely freezing.

Whereas the other two were bundled up in chunky knit sweaters and jeans, this girl was in a baby pink sundress and Mary Jane's. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself and though she tried to laugh at something the blonde had said, her teeth were visibly chattering.

' _Hey, girls_!' Emmett waved, pulling me forward. ' _Over here! Hey!_ '

They all spotted us at once, hands raising in unison to wave back.

' _Get over here_!' the blonde called, her smile wide.

Emmett relented on his pulling of my arm as soon as we were close enough for him to break away, running swiftly up the ramp and bounding straight up to the blonde. The black-haired one meandered over a moment later, and the three of them shared stories about what they had done that day - water skiing and shopping, eating ice cream and swimming.

I made my way over to the brunette, standing in the sand and looking up at her.

' _Hi_ ,' I'd said, watching her shiver.

' _H-hi_ ,' she'd managed with the smallest of smiles.

' _You cold_?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

She rolled her eyes, and I'd laughed. She nodded.

' _Isn't it o-obvious_?'

I paused, looking back over my shoulder. I could see Brooke and the rest of our friends over by the refreshments stand. I turned back to the girl. Her teeth chattered. I winced.

' _Here_ ,' I'd said, pulling off my dark purple Northwestern University hoodie without a second thought. I held it out to her.

' _N-n-no way! Y-you'll be cold then, too_!' she'd protested.

I shook the garment out at her.

' _Take it, I'll be fine. It's losing its warmth as we speak_.'

She hesitated. A breeze rolled through, and a shiver so strong it looked painful shook her body. I winced again.

She took the sweatshirt, pulling it over her head quickly. She sighed in relief - it nearly engulfed her completely, she was so small. Granted, I'd always bought my hoodies a size up, but still.

' _Better_?' I'd smiled.

She nodded. ' _Better_.'

I never made it back to my friends that Fourth of July. I'd climbed the ramp of the lifeguard tower and sat beside the girl, my legs dangling off the side like her's. We said barely anything to each other the rest of the night. When a vendor came over with a rolling cart, I bought everyone ice cream - she got a strawberry shortcake. We watched the fireworks.

And when it was all over, she pulled the hoodie off and handed it back to me.

' _Thank you,_ ' she'd whispered, shy and uncertain.

' _B_!' the blonde called, backing into the crowd. ' _Come on, we gotta go_!'

And they did. I watched them all disappear into the throng, not knowing that just a few weeks later would be the last time I'd see them all for seven years.

"I can't believe you still have this…" she breathes, reaching out to take it and holding it reverently in her lap.

"Me either. I guess Mom kept it. I found it in my closet a few days ago," I say. "Happy birthday, baby."

Bella looks at me with watery eyes, shrugs out of her cardigan and unfolds the hoodie, then pulls it carefully over her head. We both let out laughs of incredulity.

"Holy shit, it still fits."

She stands, straightening the fabric and tugging at the sleeves. It really _does_ \- it's not too big or too small, doesn't look ratty or worn. It fits _perfectly._

"I can't believe it," she giggles, turning her head and burying her nose into the fabric. "It still smells like you."

I can feel my face heating a bit, so I look away.

"I may have, uh… slept with it under my pillow."

"What?" she asks, tilting her head fucking adorably. "Why?"

I clear my throat, rub the back of my neck, shrug.

"Wanted it to smell like me."

It's barely a second before Baby is all over me - straddling my lap, her arms around my neck, laying smooches all over my face.

"You need to stop being so thoughtful," she mumbles, kissing the corners of my mouth before laying one straight onto my lips. "It's not fair. You're spoiling me."

I pull away, brushing her hair back and kissing down her neck.

"Bella, this is nothing. If I were to _really_ spoil you…" I murmur, squeezing her tiny little waist. She gasps, I groan. She tugs my hair, I can't stop my hips from moving.

She freezes, I freeze.

And then in one delicious, incredible moment… she shifts, spreading her legs a little wider, and grinds down. The pressure is…

I gasp. " _God,_ baby, do that again."

She does. I grip her waist and keep her steady as she does it _again, and again, and again_. With every little rut of her hips, she's driving me closer and closer to absolute insanity. The moment I break is when I hear her breathy little whimper, right beside my ear.

I flip us easily, laying her carefully back on the bed and settling between her legs, resting my weight on my forearms as I hover above her. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes dancing wildly, and her lip is caught between her teeth. I reach up and tug gently with a thumb, leaning down and capturing her lips.

I'm surrounded by her - by the way she smells, the way she tastes, the way she feels. Her legs wrap around my waist and I press closer. Her hand snakes under my t-shirt and she lays her palm against my abdomen, trailing along and feeling me. When she tugs on the hem, I'm quick to discard it. Her breath catches in her throat, and then both her hands are on me - running from my shoulders, down my chest and stomach and back up.

"You're perfect," she breathes, pulling away to gasp for air. " _Perfect_."

The sound I let out is closer to a growl than anything else, and I can't stop myself from reaching up under her tee and my hoodie and feeling her. She's just as soft as I imagined but impossibly more so, her stomach flat and smooth, silkier than silk.

She sits up slightly and in one fast move, I've pulled the sweater and tee off and she's beneath me in nothing but a black lacy bra and leggings.

"Fuck," I hiss, trailing my fingers from her collarbones and lower, down between her breasts. I can _just_ see perfectly pink nipples behind delicate onyx fabric. Her bra has no underwire, no push-up cups or padding. It's just lace and beyond that, Bella. "You think I'm perfect? _Jesus_ , baby girl..."

Bella wraps her arms around me, hands flat against my back, and urges me to come closer. I do and when we're skin-to-skin, so tightly I can feel the rapid thrum of her heart in her chest, I know there's nowhere else I want to be.

My Baby is troubled and dark, a little problematic and scarred - but I want all of her. Not despite it, but _because_ of it… because without it, she wouldn't be Bella. I would do anything to take away her pain, to prevent whatever happened to her from happening, but it has. She deals with it everyday, and now… so do I.

I gasp at the thought.

I am so fucking far in this. There's absolutely no hope of ever going back. Whatever demons she's fighting… I'm right there with them, too.

When her hand tugs at the waistband of my jeans, I know I have to slow this down. Everything in my body rebels against the idea, but I place my hand over hers and flip it, twining our fingers together and holding it against the bed above her head. She gasps, raising her hips and rubbing against me again, and I groan and hide my face in her hair.

"We have to stop."

She whimpers, and my resolve nearly breaks.

"No, we don't," she says, breathless. "I'm… I'm on birth control, if that's what you're worried about."

Actually, it wasn't - but _now_ it is.

And not for the reason she thinks.

I raise my head and look at her, brows furrowed. Her eyes widen and she audibly swallows - no, she _gulps_.

"Excuse me?"

"I… I just thought… maybe... you were worried about that."

"How long have you been on birth control?" I ask, and then cringe. It's a really fucking personal question, but there's something unsettling about how she's said it… so blase, so flippant.

Bella narrows her eyes. "Why?"

"How long?" I say between clenched teeth.

"Women use birth control for many reasons."

I laugh humorlessly and sit up. "I'm well aware of that, Bella. My father is a doctor."

She stays laying back on the bed, arms raised, hair splayed across the slate grey of my sheets. I try not to let my eyes linger on black lace.

"Then, why does it matter?"

I clench my jaw. "It just does, Bella."

She purses her lips. I sigh and pull my shirt on, and she sits up and bunches up her tee before throwing my Northwestern hoodie on. I'm thinking she won't answer me when, suddenly, she does.

"Since I was fifteen."

I choke a bit.

"Fifteen?" I manage, facing away from her, studying the posters on my wall with rapt fascination.

"Yes."

I swallow, closing my eyes as I ask the next question.

"Why?"

I jump when I feel her hand on my back, rubbing a slow, soothing circle.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to."

* * *

Bella and I's last conversation leaves me on edge for the rest of the week. We left right after, rushing to drive her home before Emmett got back from practice. She kissed me sweet and soft and thanked me for her present, and I watched her walk behind those massive wrought-iron gates and up the driveway until she disappeared behind perfectly trimmed hedges.

But, I can't stop thinking about her - about all of it. Not just the conversation, but the way she acted at the diner when I tried to get her to eat. The way she looked when I mentioned her Mom. How she felt in my arms as I played my piano for her.

I must admit... I think a lot about the way she looked on my bed, too.

I text her every chance I get. I'm always first but whenever I see the name 'Baby' pop up in response, the concern that causes leaves me. I'm a love-sick fool for her, and I don't even care.

Jasper and I audition every day for the two missing spots in the band. The show at The Six is fast approaching, and we could borrow a couple artists from other bands, but… it feels cheap. We're ready to have a set line-up of our own.

The artists are good, but they're just… not right. Not until James Ross and Eric Yorkie walk through the doors.

I know as soon as I see them and when I look at Jasper, I can tell he's on the same page.

James is interesting. He looks like he maybe could've been in a boy band at one time, but decided to grow out his hair and beard and join a rock band instead. When he sits down behind the drum set and plays a solo that's so good, it has my hands clenched into fists… I know he's it.

Eric's got that mid-90's James Iha vibe going on, quiet and a little intense. Fittingly, he chooses to play along to 'Hummer' by The Smashing Pumpkins - not a particularly hard bass line, but absolutely face-melting when done right. He does it right.

I stop him before the song is over, and we rearrange to play the tune full-out. Jasper and I agreed that before we made a final decision, we'd have to play with the artists and feel them out.

We play with them. We feel them out.

And just like that, they're in the band.

* * *

The Hale's Beverly Hills villa is California-cool in a way that, remarkably, doesn't seem too ostentatious. The first time I walked into the Spanish-style mansion, all beamed ceilings and arched hallways, I truly knew for the first time that I was somewhere so entirely… _other_ than what I had known previously. For a lingering moment, I missed the straight-forward simplicity of Chicago's way of life.

Everything in Los Angeles is magnified - it's more hot, more busy, more dangerous, just… _more_.

This time, as I pull up to the Hale's mansion, I'm nervous still… but for an entirely different reason.

"Cullen," Rosalie drones, looking like Cher Horowitz's bad seed sister as she swings the doors open. "To what do I owe the displeasure?"

I raise both brows, brushing past her.

"Screw off, Rosalie," I mumble distractedly, eyes darting around. I know she's here, she told me she would be.

 _Unless…_

"Looking for something?"

I startle like I've been fucking shot or something, spinning around until I catch sight of her. When I do, it feels like I can breathe again… until I take in what she's wearing.

Then I can't breathe at all.

Baby's standing at the top of the winding staircase, hair loose and shiny and looking softer than ever. She's got on absolutely ridiculous fuzzy pink bunny slippers and delicate little white sleep shorts with a lace trim, but it's the sweater she's wearing…

It's my Northwestern hoodie.

I meet her bottomless, honey-brown eyes. She winks. I nearly crumble right then and there.

"Hello? Earth to Edmund," Rosalie sighs, snapping beside my ear, and I clear my throat and look anywhere but at my beating heart as she descends the stairs.

"Where's Jazz?" is all I manage, and there's this crazy-hot electricity running between Bella and I, like a live-wire strung in the distance between our two bodies. Every step she takes closer to me is another tug on the line.

"He's up in his room," Bella says, her voice like sugar. "But we were just about to watch a movie. Want to join?"

Rosalie scoffs, stepping past me to throw an arm over Bella's shoulders, and I have to clench my fists against the jealousy their ease brings about. If I were to do that, to step forward and touch her, pull her to me and grip her like I want to…

Rosalie would call the fucking cops on me, no doubt.

So I stand, and I stare, and I watch as my Baby is dragged into the living room and away from me. Watch as, just before she disappears around the corner, she turns back... and with her free hand, blows me the smallest little heartbreaking kiss.

* * *

"Do you really think they'll be able to learn all this by the gig?"

I groan, placing my guitar on the ground beside me and leaning back against the foot of Jasper's bed. I rub my face and speak from behind my hands.

"I really fucking hope so, Jazz. What other choice do we have?"

We've been at this for a couple of hours now - working and re-working the set list, replacing some of the songs that are too difficult to master in such a short amount of time with ones James and Eric already know. Learning them ourselves, tweaking them a bit, making them our own.

"You're right," Jasper grumbles, launching himself up from his bed. "I need a fucking break, man. You coming?"

He opens his bedroom door, and I can hear what I couldn't before: Bella's laughter.

I'm up and on my feet in a flash, nearly barreling past Jasper and out into the hallway. On the main floor, we head to the kitchen. My heart jumps into my throat.

Bella is sitting atop the pristine marble counter top, feet swinging, munching on something. It takes me a moment too long to realize what it is and when I do, my feet lock into place.

Raspberries.

She's eating raspberries.

But it's not _what_ she's eating that gets me… it's _how_ she's eating it.

The pint sits beside her smooth, creamy-pale legs, jewels of fuchsia-red fruit glistening in the light of the kitchen. Bella reaches toward them, plucking one morsel at a time and sticking them on the ends of her slender, graceful fingers. One by one, she perches the fruit atop her digits, and one by one she sticks each finger into her mouth and sucks them right off.

My chest is aching, pounding like I've just run a fucking mile. I know she knows I'm here, though she hasn't looked up at me, because she's smiling around the finger in her mouth, then smirking as she chews.

"Bella-Bella… what are we having this fine evening?" Jazz drawls, sidling up to her and reaching over her to pluck a raspberry from its container. She makes a little incredulous squeak and shoves his shoulder. He nudges her right back. She laughs. I burn.

"A big pot of 'get-your-own stew'," Baby smiles, and then - oh, _and then_ \- she looks at me. Slowly, so slowly, she eats another berry off her finger, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

I break.

She jumps slightly as I stride forward with purpose, leaning back against the counter on the other side of her legs. I cross my arms, sighing, trying to look as nonchalant as I most certainly do not feel because I can feel her warmth, the smooth skin of her thighs so dangerously close to my arm.

"Fuck!" comes an indignant shout from the living room. "Jazz, are you down here?"

"Yeah, Rose, what's up?"

There's a tickle on the back of my neck. I jump, looking briefly up at Bella. She extracts her hand from behind me and holds a finger up briefly, so briefly, to her plump pink lips - impossibly more flushed now, stained with juice from the berries.

"I can't get this _fucking_ … ugh, _fucking DVD player_ to work! Can you help me?"

I clench my jaw and clear my throat at Bella trails the tips of her fingers from one side of my neck to the other, then up and down. Her nails scrape just the tiniest bit, and I bite back a decidedly inappropriate sound.

Jasper sighs, shaking his head like this has happened just about a million times before, as he steps out of the kitchen.

"Back in a few, Cullen," he calls over his shoulder.

"No worries," I say but I kind of choke it out, because Baby's fingers are laced into my hair now.

I wait _one, two, three_ agonizing seconds before I turn and slam both hands down atop the counter on either side of Bella. She parts her thighs, and I step between them without a second thought.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" I hiss but maybe it's more of a groan, because suddenly my face is buried in her neck and I'm trailing hot, wanton kisses along her skin like it's been years since I've seen her instead of just a few fucking days.

"I missed you," she breathes, slipping one of her hands down into my shirt through the neckline and stroking my back with long, lazy movements, her hot little hand making my skin tingle and burn wherever she touches.

The only response I can muster is a muffled moan before my lips are on hers, and _fuck_ \- she tastes like berries and sweetness and sin and that indescribable Bella flavor that drives me absolutely wild. I'm scared by how much I love every little thing about her - the smooth texture of her skin under my hands, the gasping little breaths she's taking into her most precious lungs, the way her tongue feels against mine.

"I miss you every day, all the time," I pant, and maybe I'm being stupid and love-sick foolish admitting all of this, but my head is full of _Baby, Baby, Baby_ and I just can't think straight.

"Do you? Do you really?" she whispers, and I feel her soft lips smiling against my cheek.

I hope to God she's paying attention to Jasper and Rosalie bickering in the living room, because I just can't right now - _I can't_. I'm so full up with her, overwhelmed, and everything outside of this moment is a distant fog.

"Yes, baby," I say, tasting her lips _again and again and again_. Her fingers are in my hair, the most delicious pain shooting straight down my spine as she tugs just so.

"Edward…" she moans, throwing her head back, and I gasp. I can't remember another time she's said my name, and hearing it from her lips… "Do you need me?"

I reach around her, laying my palms flat against her shoulder blades and pulling her ever closer, kissing right above where I know her heart is.

"Always."

"Don't lie to me, please," she begs and in an instant, I know this moment is _more_ \- so much more. The need she's talking about goes deeper than the absolutely agonizing strain in my jeans, or the way I can feel how her nipples are pebbled beneath my hoodie as I press my chest to her's.

I pull back, hands gripping her waist tight - tight enough to make my point, but not enough to hurt.

"I've never needed anything or anyone more."

Baby chews on her bottom lip relentlessly, and the skin turns so red I can tell she's nearly drawing blood. I reach up and pull tender flesh from between pearly whites, and her breath shudders on the exhale.

"You do?" she whispers, running her hands through my hair and linking her arms around my neck, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against mine. "You really need me?"

"Oh, Bella…" I sigh, rubbing her sides up and down, trying to ignore the way I can feel every ridge of her tiny ribs with each pass. "What are you so afraid of?"

She scoffs, a sad little sound, and shakes her head a bit. When she pulls back, she still doesn't open her eyes.

"Nothing. Everything. I feel like…"

She stops. My breath hitches because for some reason, I feel like she's going to say _something_ , a confession from the depths of her sweet heart. I don't know what I've done for her to want to do this, and I just know I'll be wracking my brain all night to figure out how to do it again.

"Tell me," I plead, swallowing hard. "Tell me something true."

On the sides of my neck, her hands clench into little fists. Her eyes squeeze shut tighter, and her lips purse.

"Come on, baby," I urge, leaning forward and kissing her cheek, her temple, her chin - anywhere I can reach. " _Tell me_."

And like they're the magic words, like I've just said a secret code, she does. It all pours out, fast though her voice is but a breath.

"I've never really needed anyone. I haven't allowed myself to, it's too dangerous. No one's ever needed me before, either. At least... not in the way I want them to."

Bella opens her big, beautiful eyes and my breath completely stops.

"You're the most precious thing in my life, and I…" she swallows, and her bottom lip quivers. My bones ache with love. "I'm scared. I'm scared, because I don't know if you need me as much as I need you."

"Yo, Edward! You down to watch a movie?"

Bella pushes me away with shaky hands, and I stumble back a few steps - eyes on her, only her. She shakes her head just the tiniest bit, eyes wide, and I reign myself in just before Jasper comes strolling into the kitchen. He looks between us with an easy smile on his face, like my world wasn't just rocked to its very core in this room, like my heart isn't threatening to beat right out of my chest.

I look back to Bella. She crosses her arms and looks down.

"Uh…"

"Don't say you have to go, man. I know it's late, but just stay over. You're well-acquainted with our guest bedroom," Jazz laughs, moving to the fridge and rifling around. Bella still won't meet my eyes, and I'm desperately trying not to look obvious as I try to catch her's.

Something happened here just now…

 _Bella told me something true._

I have a sinking suspicion that the way she's avoiding my gaze, how she's got her arms wrapped all around herself, means she regrets it. She probably needs space away from me, time to think and obsess over how to backtrack on her declarations.

If I were a better person, perhaps I'd give her that space.

But I'm not.

"Yeah… yeah, I'll stay."

* * *

 _Fucking idiot. You are such a Goddamn moron. What in the world made you think this was a good idea?_

Nestled into the couch beside my secret… _something_ , those thoughts loop in my mind like a broken record.

 _Fucking idiot. Moron. What were you_ thinking _?_

I can feel Bella's knee poking into the side of my thigh. I can hear her quietly whispering the words to certain scenes. I can feel when she heaves a sigh, when she turns to say something low into Rosalie's ear that has them both giggling.

"Would you two shut up and watch the damn movie?" Jasper says from the floor, but he's smiling at them and I see exactly where he's coming from - it's almost impossible to be mad at Bella.

She blinks her big browns at him, eyes shifting to me for the briefest of moments, before she smirks. The way her lips curve, just the corners lifting, has me shifting in place instantly.

"I've seen it just about a million times," she shrugs, and I'm not really surprised because it's Baz Luhrmann's ' _Romeo + Juliet_ ' and something about it just screams _Baby_.

Maybe it's the way her quiet bravery and solemn sweetness reminds me of Juliet. Maybe it's how when I picture Bella's Mom, the ostentatious Lady Capulet comes to mind.

Maybe it's how the two households, both alike in dignity on the big screen strikes me as eerily familiar to the ridiculous feud between our own families.

Maybe it's because, as Jasper says, "Jesus, Edward… it's like you and Romeo could be related or something."

"Why is that?" I mumble, one arm resting along the back of the couch, and I know it's impossible but I wish Bella would lean her head back and let me play with her hair like I've been aching to do all night.

"You've got that whole 'tortured soul, pretty-boy, woe is me' complex going on," Rosalie says, snickering. "Maybe you should invest in some Hawaiian shirts."

"No, thank you."

"I think you'd look nice in them…"

I can't help it - I gape a bit at Bella. She hasn't said a single solitary word to me since the kitchen incident, and since then I've been trying to get her to properly acknowledge me all night.

"Really?" I mutter, looking down at her perfect profile - dainty little nose, slightly upturned at the end and spattered with freckles right along the bridge; smooth, serene forehead and cute little chin.

"Really. You'd pull it off. Some black jeans, your Docs… it'd make a good Halloween costume, in any case."

I wait until the volume roars a bit before I speak again, bending down a bit, her hair brushing against the tip of my nose.

"And who would be my Juliet?" I say, voice just a low hum. I watch with rapt fascination as goosebumps break out on her exposed flesh. "You?"

Jasper shouts a question about the dialogue between handfuls of popcorn, and Rosalie leans forward to grab the bowl back and answer him. Bella turns to me, the full effect of her gaze rendering me immobile.

"Of course it would be me."

She shifts, and in one swift move she's got her head in my lap and her feet in Rosalie's. I stiffen, eyes flying between both Hales to gauge their reactions.

Rosalie glances over briefly before settling her hands atop Bella's slipper-covered feet and re-focusing her attention right back onto the movie. Jasper doesn't look at all.

When I look down, Baby's got her eyes on me again. She arches a brow, presumably at my stiff as fuck posture and the way my entire body has frozen solid.

" _Relax_ ," she soundlessly mouths, and I do.

A few moments later, she grabs my hand resting above her head and places it in her hair. She pokes my ribs, and I slowly begin combing my fingers through her long, silken locks. She purses her lips around a smile.

Rosalie squeals and taps on Bella's thigh when Romeo and Juliet see each other for the first time at the fish tank.

"This part is so romantic," Rosalie sighs. "The way they look at each other and just _know_. Could you imagine that? Love at first sight… I believe it. Don't you?"

The hand currently in Bella's hair stops. My breathing stops. I think my fucking heart stops, too, because… well, that's what this is, isn't it?

Love at first sight. The shit you hear about in books and movies. I'd always thought it was a crock of shit… until now.

Until her.

Bella swallows, hard, and chews on her bottom lip. She's hard to read but she's got these little tells…

 _She knows it, too._

But, fuck, it's impossible. There's just no way.

"Hey, B, Allie is here. I'm going to go let her in," Rosalie whispers, and Jasper's neck nearly snaps, he turns so fast.

"Alice is here?" he chokes, and I wince. I hope to God I'm not that obvious…

But, my hand is still in Bella's hair.

 _Fuck, I'm probably worse._

"Yeah? I told you she'd be coming, nimrod."

"I didn't… I wasn't… _paying attention_ ," he stutters, leaping to his feet the same time as Rosalie. She raises her brows. "I'm just going to go… change into my pajamas."

"Those _are_ your pajamas, Jazz," Rosalie says, tilting her head.

"No, they aren't. I'll… be right back," he stumbles, and his sister might not get it, but I do. One love-sick fool to another: Jasper's pajamas consist of a ratty pair of sweatpants and an old, bleach-stained Pearl Jam tee.

He's changing because he doesn't want Alice to see him in grubby clothes.

I snort, and Bella giggles quietly behind her hand as Rosalie rolls her eyes and exits not too far behind her fumbling sibling.

Bella looks up at me, her brows furrowed, and I try my most reassuring smile back. I'm not sure if it works because she looks back to the TV, not saying a word. I breathe the quietest sigh I can manage and try to pretend like I'm not bothered by her flip-flopping in the slightest.

A few moments pass, and I hear Baby's quiet voice as she speaks lowly along with the dialogue. My eyes are on her, glued with rapt attention.

"' _Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this_ ,'" she breathes. "' _For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.'_ "

"' _Have not saints lips, and holy palmers' too?_ '" I say.

Bella gasps and I unabashedly smirk, eyes back on the screen.

"What the _fuck_ …"

My laugh is perhaps a touch too loud, and she pinches my side just enough to make me yelp.

"What was that for?" I manage around my laughter.

"How do you know the lines?" she hisses, trying but failing to hide her smile.

"It's a very well-known scene, Bella…" I hedge. "And, I may have played Romeo in my senior year's production."

"No!" she gasps. "You were a _Drama kid_?"

"Shh, you're missing one of the best parts…"

Bella huffs. When she speaks again, she's pouting a bit.

"' _Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake_ ,'" she says.

Alice's bright, chipper voice sounds from the front foyer.

"' _Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take_ ,'" I breathe, looking down at her.

And then I kiss her.

The angle makes my back ache a bit, but I can't seem to care when she's all I can feel, touch, taste. Our hands are in each other's hair and we're gripping and pulling, grasping like the other is a life raft and we're drowning in the middle of the sea.

I pull away just enough to gasp the next line.

"' _Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged_.'"

"Edward…" she whimpers, straining to meet my lips again.

I can hear Jasper stomping down the stairs, his nervous-loud voice ricocheting.

"Shh, baby… we're running out of time."

Bella gasps, shifting and sitting up like I've electrocuted her. Before I can think to stop her, she's on my lap and wrapped around me, straddling me, resting her hands on both sides of my face.

"' _Then have my lips the sin that they have took,_ '" she says, breathlessly.

"' _Sin from thy lips?_ '" I say, barely audible, swallowing around the steadily growing lump in my throat. "' _Give me my sin again._ '"

And she does.

By the time Alice, Rosalie and Jasper meander back into the room, Bella is safely planted on the couch beside me and I've got a pillow in my lap. The only remnants of the dream-like kisses we shared are the wild, unruly mess of hair atop my head, and the way Bella keeps trailing the tips of her fingers over kiss-swollen, flushed lips.

* * *

It's just past one in the morning, and I'd like to say the night is quiet - serene, still, with a sky full of stars amidst the endless midnight blue.

It's not.

It's Los Angeles at the tail end of September, when the air feels like it's just on the cusp of a cool breeze and you can clearly hear the rush of cars in the not so far-off distance. It's a light-bleached sky, too polluted with city lights to show off any of Mother Nature's wonders as you sit in a wicker chair on the back porch of your friend's house.

It's the timid footsteps of a sweet, secret-heart, beauty incarnate Baby as she tip-toes toward you on bare feet. It's the way she hesitates, eyes sleep-bleary as she rubs one of them with a balled-up fist, just before you open your arms and beckon her into your embrace. It's the way the soft throw blanket you've got wrapped around the both of you is nothing in comparison to the incomprehensible silk of her skin as her warm little body straddles you and curls up into your lap, nothing compared to the feel of her lips as she tucks her face into your neck and lays sleepy-soft kisses along your flesh.

It's how she smells - like strawberries and cream and sleep, cotton-soft and bed-warmed as her hair tickles your nose.

It's the way she whispers, the rasp in her voice making your skin tingle, "do you think Rosalie is right?"

"About what, love?" you say, arms tight around her waist, blanket like a cape around you both as you tuck her closer to your heart.

"Love at first sight," she yawns, and her breath still smells like toothpaste - but you can smell her Cherry Chap-stick, too. She's perfect.

"That it's possible?" you reply, your heart beating double-time as your fingers comb through her hair.

"Mhm," she hums, nuzzling your neck with her nose.

You stop, listening to cars and distant voices and the music of her breathing.

"Yes," you finally say. "I do."

* * *

 **happy valentine's day. :)**

 **so many apologies for the double-long wait - life absolutely kicked me in the ass this week, but i've loved reading all your comments and messages here and on tumblr. if i missed replying to anyone, do let me know and i'll be happy to rectify it. i'm so, so happy everyone is still on board after last week's absolute roller-coaster of emotions. speaking of which…**

 **i said this on twitter, but i'll say it here again: if you're feeling uncertain and would like to know if this story has a happy ending before continuing on, feel free to send me a pm and i'd be more than happy to tell you. (spoiler free, of course!) i know last chapter had everyone a little shaken up, and i do apologize - alas, such is the nature of angst. :(**

 **speaking of twitter, i still miraculously have one. follow me to get real-time updates on the decline of my sanity when things like those pictures of rob running half-naked and sweaty on a beach in the caribbean happen. wasn't that wild, you guys? it was wild. i'm also on tumblr, where i answer your questions and sometimes give little sneaky-peaks into future stories/chapters. i'm bellaofthebarre on both.**

 **my fic rec this week is another old fave: ' _bare_ ' by _stella luna sky_. i first read this story way back in 2010 and promptly fell in love with it. stella continues to be one of my favorite fic authors of all time, ever - her stories have that undefinable _something_ , that sincerity and beauty that just makes you ache. edward is a tortured artist and bella is his muse and, _oh god_ , it's good. i'm sure many of you have read it already, but if you haven't… i'm insanely jealous. you're in for such a treat. i wish i could read it for the first time all over again.**

 **questions? comments? let me know what you thought. until next time. xx - b**

 _ **chapter 7 mixtape:**_ **  
track 1 - 'atlas hands' by benjamin francis leftwich  
track 2 - 'going to california' by led zeppelin  
track 3 - 'nocturne, op. posth. in c-sharp minor: lento' by frederic chopin  
track 4 - 'the seasons, op. 37-bis: vi. june - barcarole' by pyotr ilyich tchaikovsky  
track 5 - 'preludes/book 1, l.117: 8. la fille aux cheveux de lin' by claude debussy  
track 6 - 'hummer' by the smashing pumpkins**


	9. stars: part ii

' _You are the sun and moon and stars, are you,_  
 _and I could never run away from you..._ '

'You' - Radiohead

* * *

 _Dearest Diary,_

 _I relate more to Sylvia Plath than a teenage girl perhaps should. I was looking through my room today, becoming re-acquainted with the changes that transpired since I left (namely, the absence of any and all illegal paraphernalia and/or their reminders) and came across a bound journal with '_ Bella's Favorite Quotes _' written in the front cover. Flipping through, I could remember some entries better than others and the reason '_ why _' hit me all at once._

 _In some, my penmanship was the usual loopy handwriting-printing amalgam so recognizable from my schoolwork. In others, it was strange chicken-scratch, a frenzied and almost angry scrawl._

 _Those were the times I'd been faded._

 _One common thread linked all the entries together, however: each was a quotation I'd connected to. Some were from books or movies, others from songs. Today, I'd like to share with you one of my favorites. In the words of the great Miss Plath..._

 _"_ God, but life is loneliness, despite the opiates, the shrill tinsel gaiety of parties with no purpose, the false grinning faces we all wear. _"_

 _Until next time,_  
 _Bella_

* * *

School passes by in a blur: for others, plans for the fast-approaching Homecoming dance and homework; for me, in pop quizzes and excuses and pills.

Lots and lots of pills.

I go through Charlie's daily allotted portion like they're nothing. I have the brief thought that perhaps I should be cutting back, setting a couple aside to stockpile for when he finally decides to cut me off once and for all.

It's just impossible. Not with the constant stares and never-ending stream of hushed whispers that follow me every minute of everyday I spend in that absolute hell-hole. My only solace is Alice and Rosalie, and even Emmett. They keep me just on the cusp of sanity when I feel as if I'll snap.

Today, for example. Mike relayed the details of his latest party to Jessica, who eagerly ate up every word, thirsty for drama. I'd hung back, munching slowly on a carrot stick and wishing I could just sink into Rose's faux-fur cheetah-print coat when the subject of my being there was brought up.

" _You_ were there?" Jessica sneered, her face twisting into an almost-grimace.

"She was," Alice chirped, busying herself with twisting a small lock of my hair into a delicate little braid. "Problem?"

"Not at all," Jess smiled, all bleached teeth and insincerity. "Just shocked, is all. I thought you didn't _do_ that kind of thing anymore."

"She can _do_ whatever the fuck she wants to," Rose piped up, arching a brow. Emmett stiffened, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. She shrugged it off and seemed to ignore completely the brief flash of hurt that crossed his face.

I, unfortunately, couldn't - and sent a small smile his way. He returned it easily, dimples on full display, and I envied him for his easy ability to bounce back.

"I know that, _Rosalie_ ," Jessica snapped and _oh, that was the wrong thing to say…_

"I don't think I like your attitude," Rose retorted, standing from the table and placing her palms on the surface, leaning forward in one swift move.

"Rose," I piped up, laying a hand atop her's. "Stop. _Please_."

She had, but I knew that was only the tip of the iceberg for Rosalie's mood today. She'd been on-edge all week, and this certainly wasn't the first of her little outbursts - nor was it the last.

Later that day, as I sat in French with Alice, both of our phones buzzed simultaneously. We stopped, looking up from our silent work and directly at each other.

"Do you want me to look?" Alice whispered, eyes flitting to Mademoiselle Goff as she sat at her desk, book in hand.

"No, I've got it."

I plucked my phone from my bag and kept it low, resting in my lap. With a quick unlock and a few swipes, I was on Rosalie's message. What it contained made my heart sink.

"She got kicked out of class," I breathed, and Alice sighed heavily. "She wants us to meet her by the bleachers."

" _Now?_ " Alice hissed and I swallowed and nodded, glancing at the clock. There was still nearly twenty-five minutes left in the period. "Can't she wait?"

Our phones buzzed again, and I grimaced at the one word that said a thousand more on my screen.

 **Please.**

Alice took one look and her hand was up. My eyes widened in alarm and she discreetly leaned in, whispering, " _quick, look green._ "

I clamped a hand over my mouth, doing my best ' _I'm-going-to-vom_ ' impression as Alice sharply called Goff's name.

"Oui, Alice?" she said, raising her eyes from her novel and gasping once she saw me. "Oh, my God! Bella, n'es-tu pas bien?"

"Non, Mademoiselle Goff. Pouvons-nous aller voir l'infirmière?" Alice spoke, her pronunciation flawless.

"Yes, yes. Tout suite!"

More eyes on me, I could feel them, but I focused on nothing but completely ignoring them in our haste. Grabbing both our bags, Alice ushered us out of the door, keeping our pace swift until we were around the corner - definitely the opposite direction from the school nurse's office.

Wordlessly, we made the short trek from the languages wing of the school, cutting through the arts wing toward the Gym and outside to the field. I averted my eyes as we passed directly by the Theater room, all too certain I would be missing that class today... once again.

Rosalie was easy to find, even without the tell-tale puff of smoke that signaled her like a beacon. Directly in the middle of the tall bleachers, two rows down from the announcer's box and dead-center, she was the picture of an adolescent rebel in her faux-fur, joint in hand. The musky-green smell of marijuana permeated the air around her as we approached, footsteps clanking against the metal seats on our incline.

"Took you two long enough," she grumbled, taking another puff of her joint. I held my breath, stopping on the rung below her as Alice sat herself delicately right beside the blonde.

"We left as soon as we could, Rose," Alice sighed, reaching out for the spliff and expertly balancing it between her index and middle finger. "You could at least say thank you, you ungrateful bitch."

" _Thank you, you ungrateful bitch_ ," she said in response, punctuating it with a comically slow and lazy grin. Alice snorted and knocked shoulders with her, puffing once, twice. Rosalie raised a brow at me. "You coming up here or what, princess?"

I toed the metal beneath me with the tip of my boot, eyes to the ground, trying to ignore the hot, hot heat that was quickly rising up my neck at the thick smoke surrounding us.

"I'm good over here…"

When I looked up from beneath my curtain of hair, Rosalie was blinking at me. She regarded me with a curious expression, blindly reaching out for the joint and taking a quick pull once she'd received it back from Alice. She blew the cloud directly toward me, and I couldn't stop my grimace.

"Fuck," she choked, coughing a bit on the residual smoke. Alice patted her back. "Fuck, B, I'm sorry - I didn't even realize..."

Alice looked between us for a moment, a furrow marring the space between her brows… and then recognition hit her, all at once.

"The _weed!_ God, I'm sorry! I didn't think…" she squeaked, pinching the object in question from Rose's fingers and snuffing it out quickly. She waved her hands wildly, cheeks puffing in and out in great gusts of air as she tried to blow away the remaining haze. "I forgot, I… it all just felt so _normal_ , I didn't even…"

"It's alright," I sighed, forcing a smile. Rosalie had her face hidden in her hands, shoulders shaking, and I honestly couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. I stepped up, sinking down to sit on her other side and placing a hand on her back. "It's really fine. I'm sorry I'm such a Debbie Downer."

Rosalie lifted her head, and I could finally discern what she was feeling - because she actually _was_ laughing. I tilted my head, lips twitching despite myself as she covered her mouth and tried to hide her giggles.

"I'm sorry, Bella," she managed. "We just keep… we keep _fucking up!_ "

I couldn't really see what was so funny about that, but I supposed laughing was better than crying. So after a brief, concerned glance toward Alice, I found myself laughing, too.

Soon, we were all dissolving into fits of giggles, leaning on each other for support as they turned into snorts, and snorts into howls.

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way, though with the absence of any controlled substances. Rosalie didn't bring up the reason she'd been kicked out of class and we didn't ask, because that's just how things worked with her. We talked and laughed and when the last period Phys. Ed. class came out to run laps, we giggled over how Mike couldn't stop adjusting his gym shorts any time Jessica jogged by, fake tits a-bouncing.

Throughout all of that, there was an odd strain of tension between Rosalie and I. I'd felt it a few times this week, but now it seemed as if something were really coming to a head. I certainly knew my main point of contention with her, but I wasn't entirely sure of her's.

When the last bell rang, Alice shouldered her bag and motioned toward the parking lot.

"I've got to get going. I need to head down to Rodeo… Mommy Dearest needs me there for her fitting," Alice sighed. "She's absolutely hopeless when it comes to the intricacies of perfecting a custom Dior gown. You're both more than welcome, of course."

I pursed my lips, and Rosalie cleared her throat. Neither of us were set to be moving from these spots for quite a while.

"You go on ahead, Allie. I'm going to hang here and watch Emmett's practice."

Alice huffed, crossing her arms. "And you, B? There'll be chocolate-covered strawberries… I know you can't resist those."

I snorted, though my tummy rumbled a bit at the thought.

"I'm good, too. Sorry… I think I'll stay and keep Rose company for a while, yeah?"

Alice looked like she was about to retort, but something in my expression must have shut her up. She sighed and stiffly nodded.

"Okay. Well, if you ladies are free later, don't hesitate to drop by, alright?"

"Yes, Alice," we both droned simultaneously, snorting at the monotone of our voices.

"Okay, good. Kisses, bitches," she sang, leaning down to smack loud, wet smooches on both of our cheeks. I giggled and Rosalie scoffed, but she playfully slapped Alice's ass as she scooted by us.

"That girl…" Rose sighed. "That girl is a ray of fucking sunshine if I've ever seen one."

* * *

Football, despite what some may think, is actually a completely enjoyable sport to watch.

I think perhaps it may be because of my upbringing - watching Seahawks games on TV from my Dad's lap, streaking under my eyes with green and black face paint and donning small Number 12 jerseys - or maybe the good memories it brings, but I've always enjoyed it.

Knowing someone on the team, however, changes things exponentially.

"Come on, Em!" I scream, hands cupped around my mouth, shouting from deep in my gut. "Don't take that shit from them!"

"Let's go, babe!" Rosalie shouts, stomping her foot and attracting even more attention than we've already gathered. "Squish 'em like a fucking bug!"

Emmett jumps up from the grass, plucking his helmet from his head. When he does, I can see the full force of his grin and hear his boisterous, full laughter - even from up this high.

"I'm trying here, ladies!" he bellows, bending back a bit with the force of his voice.

" _Not good enough, jockstrap!_ " Rosalie shrieks, and I dissolve into laughter.

We both settle back down as the players break for water, giggles fading off. Soon though, the only sounds between us are the Coach's beckoning whistle and the jostle of equipment as the guys jog back onto the field.

"He's so good to me, B," Rosalie breathes, voice soft. When I turn to look at her, her eyes are on Emmett - a small smile gracing her lips. "Much better than I deserve."

"Don't say that, Rose," I sigh, leaning my head against her shoulder. She tilts her own, and I can feel her cheek resting on the crown of my head.

"It's true. He's just so _nice_ , in every way possible. His family is, too," she says, and I stiffen at the mention of the rest of the Cullen clan, a small thrill going through me at even the idea of my Romeo-boy.

"His parents?" I ask, and the tone of my voice needs no further explanation for the real question I'm asking - _do his parents care about your last name?_

"Especially them. They're… incredible," she laughs. "I come in, faded off my ass, slurring and stumbling and reeking of vomit… and his Mom makes me a cup of tea, his Dad sits me down and examines me and he gives me anti-nausea medication. They don't turn their noses up at my dress or hair or streaky makeup…"

"They _sound_ incredible," I whisper, unable to stop the pang of jealousy that settles deep into my chest. I want to know them, too - almost painfully so. I want to meet the people that raised such irreplaceable sons… the ones who raised such a beautiful, resplendent sunshine-boy that owns every inch of my damaged little heart.

"They let me stay the night, you know? After the party. His Mom said she knew my parents wouldn't be too happy to see me like that," she scoffs. "It's like she _knew_. I think she did, actually. Maybe it's not a secret to anyone but me just how fucked up my family really is."

I clench my jaw and remain silent, grasping one of Rosalie's hands in both of mine and keeping absolutely still. It's rare, this moment of truth from her, and I'm hanging onto it with everything I've got.

"You're lucky, B, really. Your Dad… he cares _so_ _much_."

I can't help the almost violent scoff that comes out at that, shaking my head.

"What was in that weed, Rose? You're acting delusional."

She makes a sharp ' _tsk_ ' sound and nudges me, but I snuggle in deeper and refuse to look up.

"Bella, seriously. I know it doesn't really seem like it sometimes, but he _does_ care. He got you help when you needed it the most. He's making sure you're staying straight. My folks certainly couldn't say the same."

She's probably right, but this ever-present ache that burns black and ugly in my chest begs to differ. Every redeeming thing Charles Swan has ever done was dashed in a single moment - the moment he forgot I existed on my own birthday.

"Your parents care, Rosalie. They just…"

"Have a shitty way of showing it?" she snaps, and I jump. She sighs, squeezing my fingers tightly. "I'm sorry. It's just… I really think they _don't_. I'm not saying that to gain sympathy or anything, but I genuinely think they don't give a fuck about me. I'm starting to accept that."

An image of Mr. and Mrs. Hale, pale blonde hair and stiff countenances, comes to mind. All throughout our youth, even as small children, it never really seemed as if they treated their kids as just that - kids. They were always expected to act more like mini-adults.

"It's a wonder you and Jazz turned out the way you did," I smile. "Both so unique, so creative. Your parents are kind of like robots, you know?"

This earns a strained little laugh from Rose. "You're right."

"But, I still think you're wrong. You're their child, of course they care for you."

I can feel Rosalie shaking her head vehemently. "I don't think so. Jazz was the planned one, you know that already. I was the mistake. Jasper was supposed to be the lone heir to the Hale throne - they planned for that situation. They didn't plan for me. I was a… a deviation from their perfect little path. An unwanted detour. I wish they gave a shit about me, but they just… they just _don't_."

I bite the inside of my cheek roughly to keep the rapidly welling tears at bay because although this story is heartbreaking, I can't say it's entirely untrue. Rosalie _was_ unplanned, and she _was_ a deviation.

"But you're not a mistake, Rose. No one would ever say that."

She scoffs and then sighs, and it sounds watery. I choke back a small sob and squeeze her hand tighter.

"My life feels like a fluke," she says, and I stiffen. "So, why shouldn't I treat it as such? Too much shit has happened to me. I just wasn't supposed to be here. Everyone else has a set path, a fate they're allotted. I wasn't supposed to be born, so I'm a… a free agent."

"A free agent?" I rasp, unable to stop the traitorous tears from falling now.

"Yeah, sure. It's like… like, everyone is allocated a certain about of pain and suffering in their lives, but there's joy and happiness in equal or exceeding measure to counteract it. Your fate determines it all. But, I wasn't planned. I'm an unknown variable and thus, I'm open to any and all crap and misery this world has to offer."

"I don't think it works that way," I try, shaking my head. "You were born. You're here. Whether or not you were planned doesn't matter."

"I think it does," she laughs humorlessly. "I think it matters a whole fuck of a lot. And, that's okay because I think I'm starting to accept that now. It gives me freedom, you know? I don't have fate on my side but I can make my own destiny, freely make my own choices. I can fuck up, and fuck up, and _keep_ fucking up and it doesn't matter because I'm not screwing with any cosmic witchcraft that could blow my whole future into tiny pieces."

"But, what about someone else's fate?" I choke, pulling away and looking directly into her red-rimmed eyes - eyes that are impossible to discern whether they're red-rimmed from weed or from emotion. I grasp her hand even tighter in both of my own and she winces a bit, but I keep plugging on. "Let's say you _don't_ have a destiny - sure, fine. But, what if you and all your unknown variables mess with _someone else's_ path? What if you're fucking up someone else's _life_?"

For a few long, heavy moments, we just stare at each other - me, with my chest heaving and tears falling fat and wet down my heated cheeks; her, brows furrowed and mouth agape, studying my face.

"Did I… did I _do_ something to you, Bella?"

 _Yes!_ I want to scream. _Yes, yes, yes! You pushed my demise into my palm and forced me to take it. It's sitting in my fucking underwear drawer, taunting me every night… and you can't even remember._

"No," I say instead, the lie like a bitter pill on my tongue. I swallow it down with too much ease. "No, I'm just talking out of my ass. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Are you _sure_?" she says, bending to meet my eyes as I look down and away.

I untangle our hands and pull down both sleeves of my sweater, rubbing roughly at my tear-streaked face.

"Yeah," I sniff. "I'm sure. I was just thinking out loud."

Rosalie studies me for a minute, and I turn and cross my arms over my chest and try to focus on the practice going on below us. I try to calm my breathing, to make my chest stop heaving like it is.

"If I did…" she says, stopping to swallow. I meet her eyes. "If I did, you would tell me, wouldn't you? We don't lie to each other, B."

I force myself to smile, quick and tight, and hope it's convincing enough.

We _do_ lie to each other, all the time. I know there's something else Rosalie is hiding from me right now, because I've known her since I can remember and I can read her like a fucking book. She's not telling me, though. She's _lying_ to me.

I lie to _her_ because she has so much - too fucking much - on her plate, and I'm terrified one more thing will send her falling off an edge I know all too well.

I lie to her because, on some level, I know she's right. I know her parents probably don't care for her. I know if she did fall off that edge, they wouldn't care enough to get her the help Charlie got for me.

I lie to her because in this crazy, messed up, fucked up world… Jasper and Emmett and Alice and I are all she's got, and if we can't protect her…

Who will?

* * *

The phone rings _once, twice, three_ times before someone picks up.

"Yeah?"

The male voice is unfamiliar to me. I consider hanging up, because this wouldn't be the first time she's changed her number without letting me know.

"Hello," I speak, my voice coming out sounding much too high and much too nervous. I clear my throat and try again. "Hi, is Renee there?"

Her name sounds strange on my tongue, having not spoken it for a while.

"Who wants to know?" they ask again, and I bristle at the tone but breathe a sigh of relief. _So, this_ is _still her number?_

"It's Bella?"

" _Bella_? Bella _who_?" he says, and my stomach turns and tumbles and drops.

"It's Bella, her - "

"Listen, kid, I ain't never heard of any _Bella_. If this is another one of Chantel's fuckin' friends again, I told you before - _Renee don't have your Goddamn money yet._ "

"But - "

"Just tell her she needs a few more days. We're tryin' to sell the car right now, she'll get her money when we do."

"Okay," I whisper.

"And, tell Chantel that shit she gave us last time was crap… had Renee passed out for hours."

"Okay," I say again.

The line goes dead.

* * *

Snowy, white powder shifts behind clear plastic as I tilt the small bag to and fro, watching it first gather in one corner, then the next.

"What is it about you that makes people so crazy?" I say, voice nothing but a breath as I study the substance, baggie pinched between my index finger and thumb as I hold it up to the light. I spin once, twice in my desk chair before settling again. "What is it that makes you _the most important thing_ in people's lives?"

 _You know_ , a dark voice hisses in my mind. _That's why you started, isn't it? You wanted to understand why she chooses it over you, every time. Now you do. Now you know what it means to chase the dragon._

It's simple, the actions that bring me ever-closer to my demise. It's like riding a bicycle, really - walk over to my bag, grab my wallet, pluck Daddy's black credit card and a dollar bill from my wallet. Clear a nice, clean spot on the desk. Rub the bag a bit, break up the chunks you know aren't there because this is the good shit.

I catch myself just in time. Fingers poised on the lip of the bag's closure, ready to open it up, I stop myself.

My heart is pounding not only in my chest, not only in my throat, but in my entire fucking body. I can feel the anticipation down to the tips of my toes.

"Why are you like this?" I hiss, clenching the little baggie in my fist and raising it to my mouth, biting down on my knuckles and squeezing my eyes shut tight.

It takes a long, torturous few minutes of talking myself down before I'm able to reset everything - again, second nature.

Everything works in steps, a routine, only I've skipped the main one: _cutting a nice, thin line and snorting myself to oblivion._

I put the bag, untouched, into my underwear drawer and slip the credit card and bill back into my wallet.

I inspect my outfit in Grandma Swan's white painted wood, antique mirror - long-sleeved black floral dress with delicate ivory-and-pink flowers and Docs. I tuck my hair behind my ears, wrinkling my nose at my natural wavy texture - I definitely should've taken Alice up on her offer to come by first and blow-dry it. I don't bother with any makeup other than cherry Chap-stick, because I know he likes it.

I grab my bag from my bed and walk downstairs, emerging to an empty house. My steps echo through the hallways as I make my way to Charlie's study.

As always, his alcohol cabinet is unlocked. Alcohol has never been my vice and he's never really had a taste for it, either. This cabinet goes unlooked the majority of the time, save for business meetings with associates who have a penchant for overpriced whiskey and imported scotch.

I grab an unopened bottle of something with ' _The Balvenie_ ' printed across the label, though I don't much care for the name as long as it gets the job done. I meander into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and a couple of chilled bottles of Coca-Cola from the fridge. I mix a drink, and then another one, and another one until my body feels fuzzy-warm, the lingering flavors of toasty oak and burnt sugar on my tongue making me giggle.

By the time Alice and Rosalie call to tell me they're outside, the tips of my ears are hot and I know my cheeks are flushed the color of over-ripe strawberries. Or perhaps raspberries? Like the ones I ate that night at Rose's, the ones I knew drove my boy absolutely crazy…

I stumble a bit as I make my way down the drive, catching myself quickly with a snort and righting my balance. My legs feel like Jello by the time I sink into the soft leather seats of Rosalie's BMW, and my skin feels numb.

"Evening, darlings," I breathe, leaning back and closing my eyes. We begin to drive, and the gentle hum of music playing from the stereo along with the pleasant rocking of the car lulls me.

"Bella, are you alright?" Alice asks, turning around in her seat to study me with a weary gaze. She looks so pretty tonight - her short, wavy hair pulled back into a loose bun and her makeup French-girl chic, bangs just brushing her perfectly shaped brows - which furrow at me in confusion. "Thank you? But, you didn't answer me. Are you okay?"

I must've spoken all that aloud! I snort and then giggle, covering my mouth with both hands.

"Oops! I didn't mean to say that," I laugh. "You know it's all true, though."

Rosalie's blue eyes lock onto mine through the rear-view mirror.

"B, answer the question. What's wrong with you?"

"'What isn't?' might perhaps be the more pertinent question, Rose," I retort, leaning back and rolling down my window. Crisp October air ruffles my hair and tries its absolute hardest to cool my flushed and feverish cheeks. "Can you turn it up, please? I love this song."

* * *

The Six is bustling, crowd alight with unconcealed anticipation. By the time we park - nearly three blocks away, as every available space in the nearest vicinity is taken - and sneak through the back door, we've missed the opening band.

"Do you know where Em is?" Alice says into Rosalie's ear, voice raised over the cacophony of the raucous party backstage and the loud murmurs in the main club. The arm she's got hooked through mine tightens as I'm jostled by a particularly hefty man in a Velvet Underground tee.

"He said he'd save us a table near the right side of the stage," Rose answers back, scrolling through her phone, eyes narrowed as she leads us through a maze of equipment and wires and amps.

I keep my eyes peeled for number one, gaze darting back and forth - though the whiskey in my system and sloshing around in my stomach makes my vision skip, everything cast in a hazy glow of intoxication that makes lights look fuzzy-soft and air feel heavy. We're nearing the side door, the one that'll take us out into the crowd, the one that'll take me further away from him - because I know he's back here, I can feel him - and I struggle against Alice's grip to reach into my bag.

"Wait," I murmur, stumbling a bit, holding a hand to my forehead as the world seems to tilt on its axis. "I need my phone, I need to…"

"No you don't, babe. Not now, not in front of Rose," Alice murmurs into my ear, and her breath tickles so I giggle. And then I snort.

And then I see him and my heart beats double-time hard, my skin buzzing, chest aching as he cuts through the throng toward me. He's rockstar-beautiful and he smiles like a prince, his flannel on tee on jeans on Docs clinging to all his tall and toned, narrow hips looking like they were made for my hands to grip onto. His hair is a flame and his eyes are a forest fire, and I'm so in love it makes me spin harder than the alcohol ever could.

 _I'm so in love._

 _Wait..._

The thought makes me falter, and my heart is such a traitor.

"You made it," the only boy in the world breathes, bending to plant the sweetest kiss to my cheek, his hand on my waist. Fingers grip just a little tighter as the tip of his nose trails a fire-licked path just under my ear. "I missed you, beautiful Baby," he says, and it's just for me.

Alice clears her throat and he steps back, all uncertain reluctance. His brow furrows as he turns, pressing a much more chaste version of our kiss to her cheek. He says something into her ear that I can't make out, and she glances at me briefly before answering him in a tone that matches his hush.

The way he looks at me as they pull apart makes me want to cry.

"Cullen, have you seen your brother?"

Rosalie's voice enters my consciousness as if someone has suddenly cranked the volume on a stereo that was previously only turned to a dull mumble, and I jump. Edward's eyes are on me as he answers.

"About an hour ago, before the first band went on. Why?" he says, and then looks at her.

I miss his attention already, and I kind of want to stomp my feet and hold his face in both of my hands, and tell him to _look at me! Look at me, talk to me, kiss me!_ I miss the feel of his warm, soft skin and the smell of his honey and sunshine. I crave his affections like… well, like an addict craves her next fix.

My stomach flips at the thought.

I'm obsessed with him, addicted to him.

 _A vice for a vice? No, he could never be my vice - he's too good._

"I just peeked out to look for him, and he isn't where he said he'd be. Any ideas?"

Edward shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets - but not before I catch the clench of his fists just before they disappear into dark denim. The tendons of his forearms flex, straining, and I want to touch and kiss and stroke each one until he stops.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I'm not his keeper, Rosalie - I think that position is already filled by you."

I raise both brows - my boy is feisty tonight. I can feel his agitation from here, rolling off of him in palpable waves. Can anyone else? Or, is it just my hyper-awareness of him, how my body is so attuned to everything he does?

"Very funny, Rockstar. Don't you have a groupie to fuck?" she snaps, and I flinch and close my eyes, tummy turning. My skin crawls in the worst way at her implication, and images I have no desire to see flash through my mind… of Edward in compromising positions with girls that are most certainly not me.

I shake my head at the thought, and swallow down the sudden urge to vomit.

When I open my eyes, his are all over me and I relish the tiny, nearly imperceptible shake of his head. _No,_ it tells me, _I don't. No_ , it says, _there are no groupies_.

The corners of my lips twitch upward and I bite down on my bottom one to hide the full-blown smile threatening to break free. His jaw tenses at the sight, and _I love him, I love him…_

God help me, _I love him_.

"Ladies! Glad you could finally make it," Jasper says, sidling up to Edward and throwing an arm over his shoulder. The slightly glassy sheen of Jazz's eyes tell me everything I need to know - his three sheets to the wind match mine perfectly.

"Parking was an absolute nightmare. Do you guys have any concept at all of how popular you are?" Alice sighs, gazing up at him and _oh, I know that look._

Relief lightens the weight on my chest, because her and I are _so_ in this together. Her heart-eyes are as undeniable as mine.

"Well, when you put it like that…" Jazz says with a smile, and I genuinely think I can see Alice melt.

"Hey, guys? Five 'til stage," a rough voice comes from behind me. I turn, and this man is unfamiliar. His dirty blond locks are longer than Jasper's, and pulled back with a worn piece of leather. His scruff is dark, and his eyes are hazel and he's looking at me like I'm something to eat - in the worst way.

Not in the way my boy does - like he'd devour my mind, body and soul and give me all of him in return.

This man looks like he'll take, and take, and take and leave nothing but a shell behind.

My spine straightens and I shuffle backward so suddenly, I hit against a solid, defined chest. Hands come up to steady me by my forearms and when I look back, Edward is all unsure and stiff and beautiful.

"You good?" he mumbles, and I give a slow nod. He looks past me, toward the man with the scary eyes. "Thanks, James. We'll be there in a second."

 _James_ nods once, short and curt, and turns on his heel to stalk away with long, fast strides.

"Who… who was that?" I whisper, turning and coming face-to-face with Edward.

He clears his throat and steps away, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand - the other goes straight into his hair, tangling into what I know to be the softest locks.

"New drummer," he says, eyes glancing just over my shoulder to where Rose, Alice and Jasper are peeking around the side of the stage - presumably in an attempt to spot Emmett. When he speaks again, the tone of his voice makes my heart jump. "Bella, are you drunk?"

I gasp before I can stop myself, eyes wide.

"I… I, um…"

 _Busted._

Edward breathes out, face twisting, eyes clenched shut as he fists his hair tightly. His other hand hovers in the space between us, half-outstretched as if reaching for me.

"Baby, what are you… _why_?" he groans, the full force of his Green all on me now.

"I'm sorry," I rush out, my voice breathless and shaky. I'm fumbling, twisting my hands and fingers together over and over.

"What are you thinking?" he growls, and his fury and force has my hackles up instantly. "What's going on in that head of your's? Why would you…"

"Who are you, my _father?_ " I snap. He flinches. "Are you… are you _chastising_ me right now? What - are you going to ground me, Daddy?"

His face flushes in an instant, mouth agape, brows furrowed deep over his eyes. I step back, and his hand reaches out and grasps my forearm before I can move any further.

"Why are you acting like I'm the bad guy here?" he says, and when I pointedly look down at his grip on me, he reluctantly releases it.

"I didn't know there were any ' _bad guys_ ' involved at all," I say, and damn it, my voice slurs a bit despite myself. Edward sucks in a sharp breath. "If you're not, then who is? Me?"

"No, I… _fuck_ ," he rasps, closing his eyes. "Bella, you have to think of this in context. For most people, this is nothing. For you…"

" _For me_... it's everything, right?" I say. "Fucked-up Bella and her fucked-up issues. One drop of anything and she's liable to snap again, is that it?"

"Stop," he hisses. "Stop that shit. You know that's not what I meant. You're taking everything I'm saying completely wrong."

"Maybe," I shrug, words hitching briefly in my throat. This distance I'm creating between us lingers, aching like a physical wound. I step back again, when all I want to do is tuck myself into his arms and his heart and his soul and never, ever let go. "Maybe not."

Edward takes a deep breath, arms crossed against his chest.

"You're hurting us," he chokes. "You're hurting this… hurting _me_."

And like they're the magic words, like there was a levee and he's broken it, tears spill over in rivulets down my cheeks. Edward's face crumples in response, his tensed shoulders slumping.

"Oh, Baby, _don't_. I'm sorry, I didn't - "

"Showtime, synergy!" Jasper shouts, wrapping a hand around Edward's arm and pulling him backward. "We'll see you girls out there."

His expression is pure sorrow as he gazes at me for a long, lingering moment and I have to look away.

I do, however, watch as they step onto the stage. The lights stay down for them to set up but the crowd still recognizes the two front men and begins to howl, cheering and cat-calling. In the blue-dark, I can no longer see Edward's face - though I can feel his eyes on me as Alice leads us to the side door and out.

* * *

When we finally find Emmett, it's because he finds us first.

"Hey, girls!" he shouts, voice instantly recognizable.

"Oh, Jesus _Christ_ , Em," Rosalie growls, though her lips curl into a smile at the sight of him - heads above everyone else, his arms wave wildly, dimpled face alight with a wide, goofy smile.

"Found him!" Alice chirps, and I snort in response.

Elbowing our way through is no easy task, and I'm shoved more than once by overzealous girls giving me absolute daggers.

"Hostile crowd…" I mumble, as a busty redhead shoves her way past me without apology, screeching to her friends about getting to the front of the stage.

Her tousle sends my already shaky balance completely off-kilter, and I'm listing to the side before I can stop myself.

"Whoa, there!"

Large, heavy arms catch me, steadying me easily.

"Thanks, Em," I sigh, cheeks ruddy-flushed and burning.

Emmett grins, throwing an arm around my shoulder and tucking me into his side.

"Stay here as long as you'd like, Bella-Bella," he mumbles. "You had me last time, I've got you this time."

A rush of gratitude swells in my chest.

"You really don't have to do this…"

Emmett gives me a long look, smile still planted firmly on his face. "I know."

A chirp sounds from my bag and I reach in, fumbling for my phone. I already know who it is before I look.

 **Any requests?**

I look up to the stage and sure enough, the artrifice-light glow of a cell phone is reflecting off Edward's profile.

I have to think for a long, hard moment - because this is an opportunity. When I have the answer, my fingers are flying and I send my response before I can second-guess it.

' **Life's a bummer, when you're a hummer. Life's a drag.'**

I receive no reply but I don't expect to because the stage lights come up, bathing the boys in blue as they're back-lit with string lights - so much like that first night, that first show. The crowd erupts, cheering building in a wave so strong it has my heart thump-thumping double-time.

"Good evening, Los Angeles…" Jasper speaks into the mic, and they're off without another word.

They slam into 'Cherub Rock' and with a packed audience at the ready, it's so different from the first time I heard them play it. It's the first time I've seen them with the new line-up, and the difference is remarkable. Whereas Taylor and Wren fit, these new guys… they _belong_. Even beady-eyed James, slamming away at his drum set with reckless abandon.

Edward's voice is better than pitch-perfect, dropping into a growl in all the right places, and the way his body bends over his guitar, the way he leans into his mic…

"He seems a little tense tonight, doesn't he?" Emmett shouts over the music to nobody in particular. I meet Alice's eyes and she gives me a telling, apologetic little pursed-lip smile.

He _is_ tense, and I know I'm the reason why.

He bends the solo into submission, fingers dancing easily along the fret-board. Without a rest they start into the next song, an iconic bass-line played to perfection rousing the crowd into a frenzy immediately. Edward takes the mic on 'Come As You Are' like a 90's daydream, a perfect little lock of hair falling down and making him look like the absolute picture of cool-confidence that he is. Jasper's backing vocals are seamless, and I catch Alice fanning herself more than once - when they're done, the crowd is so loud it's nearly impossible to hear his voice as he steps to the mic.

"Are we alright out there?" Jazz calls, and the ear-piercing response he gets is answer enough.

I keep my eyes on Edward, his tense shoulders and clenched jaw as he strips off his flannel and ties it loosely around his waist. The cat-calls that ensue have me clenching my fists.

 _Mine! Keep your dirty paws to yourselves._

"This next one is an old Soundgarden tune. Hope you enjoy."

' _Nothing seems to kill me, no matter how hard I try_ …' Edward croons, eyes closed, and the words pierce straight to the heart of me. His vocals are just the right amount of Chris Cornell to fit, but he twists it to make it sound entirely his own.

Jasper takes the vocals on Stone Temple Pilots' 'Plush' and Nirvana's 'Stay Away'. Mid-way through the latter, I scoot over to Alice's side and grip her hand in mine. She squeezes with gusto as Jasper goes all-in, screaming his way through the verses.

' _Less is more, love is blind, I don't know why. Stay, stay away_ ,' he growls, and Alice sucks in a sharp breath.

"That's a little obvious, don't you think?" she says after the last distorted note has faded off, breathing out a shaky, humorless laugh.

I grasp her hand tighter in response.

"Hello…"

Breath stutters and stops in my chest at the quiet velvet cadence that speaks, the crowd shrieking in response. Edward stands at the mic, one hand resting casually on the neck of his guitar, the other in his hair. He squints against the lights as he scans the crowd, a delicious little crooked grin curving his lips upward.

"We're, uh… we're very glad you could join us tonight. I hope you're having a good time so far."

"Fuck yeah!" Emmett shouts, arms above his head, earning him a sharp dig in the ribs from Rosalie.

"Good to hear," Edward laughs, and Emmett's outburst has granted him what I know he'd been hoping for - a way to see where I am. His eyes meet mine, holding them. "This one is called 'You'."

He steps back and Jasper picks out an unmistakable riff, melodic and mesmerizing. I hold my breath. When he sings, Edward's eyes aren't closed - they're open and gorgeous and Green and all over me.

' _You are the sun and moon and stars, are you, and I could never run away from you…_ '

"Good God," Alice squeaks. "Speaking of _obvious_ …"

My body is alight, burning hot and bright for him, and he sings everything I'm feeling right back to me.

' _You, me and everything, caught in the fire. I can see me drowning, caught in the fire…_ '

Then they're into the next song before I can catch my breath, an unrelenting intensity that lulls the crowd - they sway, some with their hands up; others with eyes closed; others still, rocking and _feeling, feeling, feeling_ it all.

A heavy bass-line and strangely distorted guitar ring out, Edward leaning into his wah pedal to craft the distinctive intro of 'Hummer' - my request. I can't stop the disbelieving laugh that chokes out, and I shake Alice's hand. She stops her swaying, meeting my eyes.

"Want to get closer?" I shout, raising my voice over the cacophony.

Wordlessly, she hooks her arm into mine and begins expertly elbowing her way through the crowd. I stumble more than once but Alice steadies me each time and miraculously, incredibly, we're at the front of the stage in no time.

I don't stop to question how in the world she managed to get us past the she-devils in their tube tops and too-short dresses, emerging relatively unscathed, because Edward is close enough to touch and I'm looking up at him - and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out and doing so.

When he notices us, his smile is absolutely brilliant and my chest is tight with _love, love, love_. He steps back, elbowing Jazz, who grants us an eye roll and a smirk.

And then I'm entranced, enchanted, moving to my boy and his beat.

I can feel him in every inch of me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and I'm breathless when he sings the line I've been waiting for.

' _Yeah, I love you, it's true_ ,' he breathes, and his eyes are wide.

My smile is silly and shy and all for him, and I watch his throat work as he swallows and shakes his head and I know that he knows.

I'm scared, absolutely terrified, and this is impossible and crazy but the easiest thing I've ever done.

Loving him is effortless.

As the show progresses, there's an odd, overwhelming feeling that paints everything in shades of strange. There's a quiet familiarity in the songs, and it takes me much too long to realize why I keep shifting, keep chewing on my lip and tugging the hem of my dress…

I'm _all over_ this.

I'm in the lovely crack in Edward's voice as he sings about sex and candy and ' _double-cherry pie_ ', in The Jesus and Mary Chain song Jasper takes the lead on that I played on our drive along the coast. Then, my boy growls his way through 'Drain You', looking at me every time he sings the word ' _baby_.'

They play an Everclear song off the ' _Romeo + Juliet_ ' soundtrack, and I'm in that, too.

I'm all over him and he's all over me.

The night ends with a song by Jeff Buckley, just Edward solo with his guitar. It's absolute magic from start to finish, and he commands the crowd without knowing he's doing it - they watch with rapt attention, as if under a spell.

His voice makes me feel like there are flowers beneath my love-locked ribs, and the space between us seems like miles when all I want is to hold him.

' _Oh, you left some stars in my belly, you left some stars in my belly_ ,' he croons, and it's like he stole the words straight from my heart.

* * *

"Come with me."

My body thrills at the sound of his voice, at the warmth of his chest as he presses against my back.

I've been waiting for him all night, watching him from across the room as he's been surrounded by praise. His cheeks were perma-flushed from the heat, hair sticking up at all angles and slightly damp with sweat. I'd caught him pulling up the hem of his tee more than once to dab away the moisture, revealing tantalizing bits of his abdomen as he did so.

We'd hovered around each other like satellites - as I'd shifted to one corner of the room, he'd done the same, always keeping me in his eye line. I'd observed his frustration as, with every step he took to approach me, he'd been interrupted.

I'd watched Victoria hang all over him like a fucking limpet, too.

I must admit, they looked… definitely not _right_ together, but maybe in another world - one where I didn't exist, where our love never became the most all-consuming thing either of us had ever known - they could have been.

A little jade monster was my constant companion through it all, whispering evil things into my ear. It wasn't just Victoria, no - we were in Edward's world now, the world where he was the Prince of Everything and all those around him were his very willing subjects.

The most infuriating, frustrating, unbelievably _attractive_ thing is… he has no idea of the effect he has on people.

Girl after girl, each just as eager as the next, tried their absolute damnedest to garner his affections. I'd be fine if they were hideous, if they posed absolutely no threat.

They weren't hideous.

And though his eyes were on me at every chance, though I could see the panic on his face as he lost sight of me for even a fraction of a second, the envy still raged.

How I wished I could walk up to him as they were, place my hand on his chest as they were, lean in and whisper into his ear as they were. I would do much more than that… I would run my fingers through his hair, tug like I know he loves. I'd grab him and kiss him, taste him and take from him and let everyone see so they'd know he's mine.

I'd never thought myself capable of having a possessive streak. I suppose I'd never had anything to _be_ possessive over, before now.

Now, I knew what it was like to taste him - warm honey and sex and boy. I knew what it was to hold him - heart bursting, head spinning happiness. I knew what it was to lean against him as he played me the sweetest songs on his piano, how it felt to hold him against my chest and feel his most precious heart thump in time with mine.

 _Mine, mine, mine._

So, when I'm leaning forward against the bar and awaiting my bottle of water and thinking of him, and he speaks those three words into my ear…

" _Come with me_."

I do. _Of course_ I do.

We move through the throng like bandits, me tucked close to his back and one of my hands in his as he guides us through the mass of people. His head is down, ducked low, hiding. I place my other hand against him, feeling the muscles of his shoulders flex beneath soft cotton before I grasp it in my fist.

"Almost there, Baby," he whispers, angling his head so I can hear him better.

He leads us up a flight of industrial-looking stairs, passing by a group of people lingering on the overhang above the dance floor. They call his name, and I hide my face against him.

"Yo, Cullen! Sick show, man. Get over here, this round's on us…"

A prince in his kingdom. He shakes his head.

"Sorry, man, not this time. I've got…"

"Oh… you heading to the office?"

Edward hesitates, squeezing my hand. I lean my forehead against his shoulder blade.

"Yeah, actually. Can you make sure no one gets in?"

"Of course, dude... have fun."

And then we're moving again, Edward pulling a set of keys from his pocket and unlocking a door. We step inside, and the low night-time moonlight that streams through the wide tinted warehouse-style windows paints everything in a warm yellow-hue glow.

Edward turns, locking the door behind him, and I take a moment to look around. The space is a fair size, clearly a room that was added as a renovation. The wall the windows are against is brick, the others a pale beige-grey. To the right, a sleek desk sits, low brown leather chairs before it - a large potted plant tucked into the corner, the walls adorned with framed records in platinum and gold.

"An office?" I ask, stepping forward.

"Yeah… Gianna's. She's the owner of The Six," Edward explains, clearing his throat. His voice rasps - from overworking it during the show or the strange tension of this moment, I can't tell.

"And, what is this?" I ask, the dull thud of my boots against the floors more distinct than I would've thought, with the music bumping below us. I can feel the bass through the soles of my shoes.

The ' _this_ ' I'm referring to is a black curtain that hangs to my left, dividing the majority of the room from whatever lies behind it. It's made of a material that feels thick and heavy in my hands as I push it aside to reveal a large bed, low to the ground - thick, fluffy-looking cream-colored bedding and an array of neutral-toned pillows. A Persian rug sits, looking purposefully off-center and chic, on the floor and a full bookshelf and various framed photographs lean against the far wall.

"There are late nights, every once in a while. Gianna has an apartment further downtown, but she stays here sometimes."

I step further in, turning and regarding Edward as he pulls the heavy drapes closed behind him. The effect is instantaneous - the barrier mutes most of the sound from below and in the relative stillness, when he turns to face me… the air becomes electric.

"Bella…"

"Have you ever slept here?" I speak, before he can go any further.

Edward sighs, one hand in his hair as he throws his keys carelessly onto a side table.

"Yeah, a few times."

"Is that why you have a key?"

He furrows his brows. "What are you getting at?"

I swallow, hard, and force out my next question through trembling lips.

"Have you ever slept here… with _her_?"

I don't have to clarify who I'm talking about, and he doesn't really have to answer. Not when his shoulders drop, when he looks away from me toward the large window that takes over most of the wall behind the bed.

"Not in a long, long time."

I cross my arms and nod, biting back the urge to fucking scream or something.

"I don't think I want to be here."

"Bella, stop," he sighs, taking a step closer. I take one back, and his face crumples. "It was never like that. Gianna is a family friend. I… I played a show here with a different band, and I needed a place to stay for a night before we headed off to Oregon. It was _once_ , I swear to you."

"I don't need an explanation," I bite, closing my eyes and shaking my head. "What you did before is none of my business. I just don't think I can… I can't be in a room where you… with _someone_ _else_ …"

And then he's on me in an instant, hands in my hair and lips on my forehead, my temple, my eyelids and my cheeks.

"Baby, it was a long time ago. _Fuck_ , I never should've told you, I just… I just needed somewhere to be alone with you."

I'm crying and it's stupid, so stupid. I feel like a fucking child throwing a tantrum. He kisses my tears so sweetly, brushing them with his thumbs and smoothing my unruly locks, rubbing my shoulders and back and I just want to be level-headed and _mature_ for once.

So I say, "okay."

He says, "' _okay_ ', what?"

I say, " _okay_ , it's fine. This is fine. I… I just want to be alone with you, too."

And when I open my eyes and see him, his uncertain smile and candy-pink lips, I can think of nothing but him and I and this moment.

When I lean forward and kiss him, his answering groan hits deep into my belly, making me feel twisty-turny and warm. I run my fingers through his hair like I've been wanting to all night, I tug just the way I've been dreaming of, and he wraps his arms around me and lifts me like they do in the movies.

When my back hits the bed, I don't think of him and another woman and what might've happened before. I can only think of him and me and _mine, mine, mine_ \- the overwhelming urge to claim him, like I want to crawl under his skin and stay there forever. It's painful, the way my chest tightens, the way his smooth, sweet lips tugging and sucking on mine makes heat pool and soft flesh ache unbearably.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling denim against damp cotton and writhing to feel him _there_. His breathless grunt is like music to my ears.

"Wait," he moans, pulling away. I whine and strain to taste him again. "Baby, _wait._ "

" _No_ ," I lament, desperate for friction and skin-against-skin, for hot and hard against slick and wet.

Then suddenly, in a move so fast I can barely comprehend it, his hands wrap around my wrists and pin them against the bed on either side of my head. He wrenches his lips from mine and raises himself to his knees, and the only connection between us is his grip on me and his forearms resting against my own.

"Stop, Bella, slow down. We need to _talk_ , damn it," Edward growls.

"No, we don't," I breathe, licking my kiss-swollen lips. He looks down at them and a breathy moan escapes his chest as he squeezes his eyes closed, hanging his head. His hair tickles my nose and I strain forward, pressing a kiss into his soft locks. He smells just like he always does - lilac and sunshine and boy - with a sweet little hint of something else, of sweat that could only drive me crazy because it's _his_.

"You're not straight right now," he says, swallowing hard before meeting my eyes again. His are blazing, pupils dilated and verdant-bright. "You're drunk. I can't… I _won't_ take advantage of you. We need to talk about this."

"I'm not drunk," I groan, squirming under him. His grip tightens and I whimper, bottom lip pouting despite myself. "I'm not, not anymore. _Please_."

He inhales sharply, mouth agape as he sucks in quick, harsh breaths. His eyes are closed and his lips are red and it's agonizing, how much I need him.

"Don't do that," he pleads, shaking his head. "Don't… don't _beg_ , Bella, I can't take it."

 _Oh, wrong thing to say…_

I throw my head back and groan, and I'm acting so _wild_ \- urging him closer, straining against his hold - but _I don't care_.

"Please," I say again. "I'm hurting for you. _Please_ , Edward."

Something shifts, a flip has been switched, and he's all over me.

One hand on the back of my neck and one under my dress, on my bare leg, Edward kisses me silly and stupid. He's a perfect tug on my bottom lip and a sweet tongue tracing my top lip and then against mine and then on my throat. His hand is big, fingers sure and certain as he grips the underside of my knee and pushes, raising my leg higher as he settles against my heat.

It's not enough. With fingers that don't fumble and hands that know their purpose, I reach down and untie his flannel, throwing it to the side. With a flick of my wrist, his top button is done for and a moment later, so is his zipper. He sits up and I follow, my heart not willing to be too far from his. I press a kiss against the cotton over his heart, sure I can feel the beat of it against my lips as I push denim over narrow hips. He doesn't let me get far and when they're just at the bottom edge of black boxer-briefs, he wraps an arm around me and lowers us back down.

I pull him in once again, and _this_ … oh, this changes _everything_.

Edward throws his head back and lets out a gorgeous, strangled moan as he feels me. All that separates us is two thin layers of fabric, and I can feel _him_ \- long and hard and large, rubbing against my most sensitive flesh as he grinds against me.

"Can you… I need you to…"

"What?" he breathes, lips against my neck as he thrusts again. "Tell me, girl. Tell me what you want."

"Touch me," I sigh, and it's nearly a sob.

I could cry when his hand is finally against me over soaking-wet pink cotton, pressing and feeling and driving me crazy.

"You're so wet for me, Baby Girl," he says, lips brushing against mine with every word. "So responsive. Fuck, you're… _oh, God_."

He sits back and I open my eyes, about to protest, but his hands are untying my boots and then taking off my socks and gripping my panties and pulling - and then they're off and I'm watching him watch me, watching him as he puts his hands on my knees and slowly parts my legs, looking at all of me for the first time.

"I knew it," he sighs, closing his eyes as if overwhelmed.

Edward bends, pressing slow, lingering kisses to my knee, then another higher, and higher, and higher. He shifts and re-positions himself, resting on his side and holding his weight up on his elbow - the same hand of that arm looping under my leg and grasping the top of my thigh. His other hands flicks my dress up, exposing all of my lower half to him. I squirm when his tongue peeks out and tastes my skin mid-thigh and when I look, he's still watching me - lips curved up into that maddening smile.

I open my mouth to try for a snarky comment, but I never get to it - not when his hand comes to rest against the smooth skin between my hip bones, fingers splaying wide, and his thumb parts my tender flesh and begins to circle my most sensitive spot.

My mouth opens in a silent scream, head tilting back, and when I close my eyes I see stars.

"Look at me," Edward says, laying burning kisses along my inner thighs. "Look at me, Baby."

My breathing is all off, shaky and trembling and I can't seem to catch it for the life of me. But, it's nothing compared to what happens when I meet his eyes.

Brown lands on Green and in an instant, a blinding moment, he shifts his hand and presses and - _oh, oh, oh_.

Long fingers enter me in one smooth movement, so deep I can't stop the loud cry that escapes. He curls them, touching where I've never been touched before, and I'm rendered speechless and breathless. He hisses, a sharp breath between his teeth as he pulls out and then slides back in, slowly this time - so slowly my legs begin to shake, so slowly I have to grip the sheets below me to ground me in this moment before I float away.

When I feel his teeth bite into my thigh, it's impossible - but I feel as if I could come, right then and there.

" _Edward,_ " I manage, lifting one hand to my hair and gripping at my locks. "Oh, _God_ … too much. It's too much."

He's doing things I didn't know were possible, creating a rhythm that makes my heart beat in every inch of my body, moving his fingers inside me and playing me like an instrument.

He pulls out, leaving me with an empty feeling I never knew I could have, and my gasp is choked and incredulous, eyes flying open.

"No, please," I whimper. " _Please, please, please_ …"

"Shh," he soothes, laying against me once more. His lips brush against mine as he speaks, and I clutch at the front of his shirt as one of his arms loops under my shoulder, his hand tangling into my hair. He lifts the other - the one still glistening in the dull light, covered in me - to his mouth. I watch, bottom lip between my teeth and hooded eyes.

Edward's perfect-pouty lips part and he places his index and middle fingers between them, closing his lips and tasting me and my heart beats so fucking hard, I think it might stop. His moans make my insides feel like lava, and my skin tingles and buzzes. When he pulls his fingers from his mouth, he licks his lips.

"You taste like cotton candy, Baby," he says, and I feel like I might implode.

I grip his neck and pull him down to me, capturing his lips. He sucks in a breath that turns into a groan as I trace them with my tongue - tasting him and me and surprising even myself when the combination makes me absolutely crazy.

When he slips his fingers inside me this time, I arch upward, needing him as deep as he can go, aching for the release I know only he can give me - from this moment on and forever, only him.

He's whispering the sweetest anything-but-nothing's in my ear, words that make me feel higher than anything, that make me feel like I could be beautiful and lovely and everything he's telling me I am. His voice is the only thing that keeps me in this bed, on this Earth, in this fucking atmosphere as his fingers push me closer and closer to a release that feels world-shattering.

"Oh, _God_ ," I groan, my voice not sounding at all like my own. "I can't, I can't…"

"You can," my aching heart says, his breathing heavy. "Just hold onto me, girl."

So, I do. I hold onto him, grasp him, tug on his shirt and hair and curl into him, sinking my teeth into his shoulder when it all becomes too much - so much, I feel like I might die.

And when I free-fall off the edge of a pleasure that feels like it's too much for my body, I'm seeing stars and constellations and comets but I feel him there - his arms around me, lips on mine, giving me his breath when mine runs out.

* * *

I come down from Heaven and land straight in the arms of an angel.

He's a lazy smile and sleepy eyes, nuzzling my cheek and planting kisses on every inch of skin he can reach. I'm jelly-boned and starry-eyed, shivers that just won't quit as he keeps his fingers in soft, wet flesh, rubbing up and down in maddeningly delicate strokes.

"If you keep doing that, I'll…"

"You'll what?" Edward breathes, a smile in his voice, and he's so handsome when he looks at me and grins the way he does - so beautiful, it hurts to look at him.

A chill rocks my bones, from my center all the way to my shoulders as the tip of his finger teases my entrance.

"You'll come again?" he murmurs, nipping at my bottom lip - and, breathing is overrated anyway, right? "I want you to. I know you can."

It seems impossible. It's been but minutes since the first, and I'm still riding high off of it. It's never, ever happened for me again so quickly.

But, it does.

All it takes is a single, long digit inside and a thumb pressing against my swollen center, and I'm right back into that free-fall. The second time is almost painful, it's so good, a choked cry erupting from somewhere deep and guttural - I could swear it almost comes from my soul.

"That's it, Baby," Edward groans, pulling out and holding me against his chest. "I've got you."

It takes longer this time for my brain to emerge from the fog and my heart to stop trying its hardest to beat right out of my chest. When I come down, I'm surrounded by my boy and he's looking at me - and this love is so, so good.

This love is a safe landing, a trust fall - an ' _I've got you_ ' and you know, without a doubt, he does.

My epiphany sits heavy on the tip of my tongue, but I don't say a word. I feel what I feel and I know it's not wrong, but this moment isn't right. Not when the most beautiful smile disappears and is replaced by a heartbreaking frown that makes my insides feel every kind of wrong.

"What is it?" I whisper, not wanting to be the first to break this bubble. I trace his strong brows, the bridge of his nose and the perfect curve of his lips as I wait for him to speak.

"You were drunk tonight."

I swallow, wanting to look away from his blazing intensity but caught in the fire and flames.

"Yes."

I don't lie - not when there's no point, not when I know I was so transparent.

"Why?"

"That's seems to be the question of the hour, huh?" I mumble, trying for a smile but feeling it come out as more of a grimace.

"It wouldn't be if you'd just _answer_ ," he presses.

"It's complicated."

"Enlighten me, then."

I purse my lips, studying the stern set of his face and the stubborn tense of his jaw.

"I don't know why," I say, and it's not a total lie - because it's so many things, I suppose. It's everything.

It's my mother and how much I miss her, though I know I shouldn't.

It's my father and how I miss him, too, despite seeing him nearly every day.

It's Jacob and his unwanted presence in my life, how his darkness seems to seep into all my cracks like tar.

It's Edward, and how this love is the greatest thing I've ever known but how much it scares me. It's how I know why he won't be with me in public, how I know everyone will say I'm too young but how I selfishly wish he didn't care about any of it.

It's me. Me and my dark little heart. Me and how much damage I've done. Me and the way I seem determined to self-destruct. Me and all the ways I kill myself little by little, everyday.

"You do. It doesn't make sense, Bella. You're doing so well," Edward pushes on.

"Am I?" I ask, with a wry smile. I want to tell him about the drugs Rosalie gave me, about how close I was to wrecking it all today… about how I wanted something, anything to numb that need - about how whiskey is a devil, but it's the lesser of two evils.

"If you're not, you can say so," he says, holding my face so tenderly in his hands - like I'm a prize, a treasure, a porcelain doll. "If you're getting bad again all you have to do is say the word, and you'll get the help you need."

I think of Sue and her endless patience, her kind eyes and warm heart and all of her faith in me. I think of her the first night she met me, washing the blood from my skin without a second thought. The way she wrapped me in clean clothing and brushed my hair, told me I was safe and I was going to get better.

Could there have been anyone kinder, anyone more capable than Sue Clearwater? I didn't think so.

So, if Sue did all she could for me and I still turned out like this… what more could possibly be done?

"I'm fine," I say, and it hurts to lie to him. "It was a mistake. I don't know what I was thinking."

He kisses me and sighs against my lips, and I know he's not convinced.

"I was upset about my Dad and nervous about tonight. I was stressed and he left a bottle of whiskey out, and I… I just didn't think."

 _There, much more convincing. You're getting good at this again…_

Edward purses his lips and regards me warily, and I almost want him to call me out again. I think if he does, if he keeps pushing, I'll tell him everything.

"If you ever think you'll do something like that again, I want you to text or call me. I don't care when, if it's late or if you think I'm busy," he says, tucking mussed locks of hair behind my ears. "Please, Baby. Promise me."

"I don't make promises," I whisper, biting my tongue to stop from crying.

I catch sight of his lip trembling just before he tucks me into his chest, and it makes my heart ache.

* * *

I'm sipping on a strawberry milkshake, exchanging secret smiles with Edward across the parking lot of our Sonic, when Jacob Black pulls up.

We'd made our way back down to the main floor of The Six with a shocking amount of ease and kept a painful distance for the remainder of the evening. When it came time to leave, I was the one to suggest a night-cap. I think Alice and Rose were too shocked to question why I brought it up at all.

Edward, Jasper and their band-mates had pulled into the spot directly across from Rosalie's BMW. We'd ordered and promptly exited the car, unwilling to let the night air go to waste. I'd hopped up onto the tail end and tried to ignore the way my boy's lips looked wrapped around his cigarette as he leaned against his trunk, but it was nearly impossible.

And then, a rumble. A roar. An unmistakable omen, and Jacob's bike is pulling into the lot, followed closely by the ostentatious yellow Hummer of Sam Uley.

"No fucking way," Rosalie hisses, coming to step in front of me.

I look for Edward's eyes, but he's not looking at me. He's not even where I saw him last. He's pushed off the back of his car and throwing his half-done cig to the ground, moving toward Jacob and his bike and his friends and _no, no, no_!

I jump from my perch, stumbling on shaky legs as I push past Rosalie. She grasps my arm, her long, red nails digging in.

"Where do you think you're going?" she bites.

Alice looks between us, hands pressed to her chest and eyes wide. I look back, and Edward is closer still.

It's a train wreck waiting to happen - a fucking catastrophe. I can't let him near them, I won't.

I wrench my arm free from Rose's grip, ignoring the scratch of her nails, and power forward. Her voice is an incredulous roar, an angry cry, but one I can handle.

Jacob has seen Edward now, standing beside his bike and tossing his helmet between his hands. I can see Sam, too... but others, as well - though I only recognize Quil and Embry. It's enough to know that if Edward starts a fight, he'll lose - even with the help of Jasper and Emmett and his friends… because Jacob and his crew don't fight fair. They use blades and bullets, and I want them nowhere near my boy.

"Jacob!" I cry, voice sharp and panicked.

He looks at me, and a slow smile spreads across his face. It's sickening.

"Izzy… long time, no see."

I'm nearly running toward him now, my boots a steady heartbeat rhythm against the pavement, and I want nothing more than to be running in the opposite direction. But I push on - because Edward has stopped in his tracks, watching me with a gaping mouth and narrowed eyes, and he's bearing witness to this catastrophe... but at least he's not the center of it.

If I could stop my momentum I would, but I can't, and before I know it I'm launching myself at Jacob. His arms are around my waist, the smell of expensive cologne and hair product assaulting my senses. I fight the urge to gag as he whispers in my ear.

"Someone's happy to see me…"

I turn my head, my voice a cutting hiss.

"Not a fucking chance."

"Your body begs to differ," he breathes, his hand going lower, lower still, resting just above the curve of my ass. I bring a hand to his hair and tug, pulling on stiff, styled locks until he hisses in pain.

"I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for him."

Jacob releases me with a shove that is indecipherable to everyone else, but is enough to make me stumble backward a step.

"Smart girl," he drawls. "Though, you might want to tell _him_ that. Your boy looks like he's about to blow his top."

I turn and sure enough, Edward is the picture of agony. His hands are in his hair and everything about him is tense. Emmett has a hand on his shoulder, speaking to him in hushed, low tones, though his voice is fast.

He's looking at me, and he's breaking.

"I'm glad I found you here tonight, Izz," Jacob says, and I reluctantly look back at him. "I need a favor."

"Why would I do anything for you?" I spit, crossing my arms and keeping my voice low. Jacob's friends are by that stupid yellow Hummer, trying and failing to listen in.

"If you want to keep your boy out of the slammer, you will," he smiles, and it's lecherous and dark and my stomach and heart drop. "Did you know, Izzy, the legal age of consent in California is eighteen?"

I swallow hard, struggling to keep the rising bile down.

"Excuse me?" I choke, and I'm shaking and trying not to cry, but…

 _What. What. What._

"You heard me, Lolita," he laughs. "Eighteen. And you're… what, seventeen?"

I step closer despite my baser instincts, voice wavering, because I'm so, so stupid - love-sick and stupid. I didn't even consider this.

"We haven't done anything," I lie, because haven't we? What happened tonight, could that be… "We've just kissed, that's it."

"Not if _I_ say you've done more. Who do you think they'll believe - the guy committing the crime, or the guy reporting him?"

"There's been no _crime!_ " I cry, nearly hysterical. I grasp Jacob's arm, and his lips curl up into a smirk and I know he's playing me - I know it. But, I can't take the chance… not with Edward. "What do you want? I'll do anything."

He grins, and I feel like I've made a deal with the Devil.

"This weekend. Dad's throwing another gala, and I need a date. You'll be there."

"What, can't catch a girl on your own, Jacob? No one interested?" I bite, and I'm playing with fire.

His face darkens, and I shiver.

"Of course I can, but I want _you_. It's a win-win, really," he says, like this is a business proposition and not blackmail. "You go out with me, I keep your boy a secret, and you make me happy. If you make me happy, my Dad is happy - and if my Dad is happy, Charles Swan reaps the benefits."

I want to vomit, right here on his stupid, ugly, designer motorcycle boots. I want to kick and scream, punch and hurt him and rip his hair out. I think, maybe, I might want to kill him.

Because he's killing me.

"Fine," I choke out, because what choice do I have? My big, drunk mouth got us here and now it's going to have to get us out.

"I knew you'd come around," he smiles, putting an arm around my neck and planting a kiss to my forehead. It's hot and wet and he smells like moonshine, and I step back as soon as possible.

He's not even looking at me when I do. He's looking over my head. I turn.

Edward's tail lights fade into the distance, leaving me feeling empty and cold on this warm California night.

* * *

 **should i hide? yikes, you guys - this was a rough one. it was so, so hard to come back to the angst after the fluff of last week. i feel like i need to write something sugary-sweet now to recover!**

 **as always, your reviews were just absolutely fabulous to read. each and every one made my week. i'm so happy you're all still enjoying, because we've got a long ride ahead of us. :) i've also so enjoyed talking to you on tumblr, as well! if you were unaware, i post aesthetics and sneak-peeks on my blog, as well as answer your questions and talk about my upcoming fics. i'm** _ **bellaofthebarre**_ **there, too.**

 **(also, just a p.s. - twitter locked me out of my other account, so i had to make a new one. it's now** _ **belladelabarre.**_ **)**

 ** _fic rec_ this week is keeping appropriately on-trend with us earning our m-rating for the first time: a one-shot from the 'dirty talkin' edward contest', '** _ **good in the stacks**_ ' **... oh my god, you guys. this is… pure smut, but** _ **intelligent**_ **smut. i genuinely found myself gaping at my screen whilst i read this, having to take a break to compose myself when things got really heated. a good pick-me-up after a bit of an angst session. you can find it in my profile, under my favorite stories. you're welcome. ;)**

 **until next time. xx**

 _ **chapter 8 mixtape (not the complete list of every song they played, as that would be a very short gig):**_ **  
track 1 - 'cherub rock' by the smashing pumpkins  
track 2 - 'come as you are' by nirvana  
track 3 - 'blow up the outside world' by soundgarden  
track 4 - 'plush' by stone temple pilots  
track 5 - 'stay away' by nirvana  
track 6 - 'you' by radiohead  
track 7 - 'hummer' by the smashing pumpkins  
track 8 - 'just like honey' by the jesus and mary chain  
track 9 - 'sex and candy' by marcy playground  
track 10 - 'local god' by everclear  
track 11 - 'drain you' by nirvana  
track 12 - 'jewel box' by jeff buckley**


	10. malibu: part i

**_*This chapter contains a trigger warning. If this concerns you, please scroll to the very bottom for a brief description of the scene prior to starting.*_**

* * *

 _'Hey, hey, you know what to do,  
Oh baby, drive away to Malibu,  
Get well soon...'_

'Malibu' - Hole

* * *

 _Dearest Diary,_

 _I feel like I'm walking on a tightrope… no, more like I'm watching myself walking on a tightrope. I'm looking up from below, and I can see myself losing balance but I can't say anything. I can't call for help or say 'look out!'_

 _I'm just watching as I fall._

* * *

"Are you sure you should be drinking that?"

I roll my eyes.

"Leah, it's fine. It's one measly little coffee."

My companion raises her brows, giving me a steely look. I smile, the widest one I can manage, cheesing it up so she'll crack.

It works. She does.

"Fine... but, if you start having one of your little episodes, don't say I didn't warn you."

" _Episodes?_ " I snort, taking a sip of my apparently dastardly vanilla cappuccino. "I'm not sure that's entirely PC of you."

"Sorry, you're right," she sighs. "Mom would have my head if she heard me talking like that. I guess they're called…" she pauses, flutters her lashes and places the back of her hand to her forehead. "Panic attacks."

I cover my mouth, trying to stop both my giggles and cappuccino foam from coming out.

"I've really missed you, Lee."

She smiles, reaching over the table to grasp my hand.

"Me too, Bells. Why haven't you called sooner?"

I purse my lips, accepting her hand and grasping it in mine. Why _haven't_ I called sooner?

"I didn't want to bother you."

Leah rolls her eyes, squeezing tighter. "That's such bullshit. I wouldn't have said yes to this whole setup if I didn't mean it. You know that's not my style. I don't do anything I don't want to do."

"Are you sure? You definitely didn't want to do _Jacob_ , but…"

She rolls her eyes and pulls her hand from mine, feigning anger but smiling nevertheless. I smirk around the rim of my large mug as I take a sip.

Leah purses her lips. I quirk a brow. She crosses her arms and shakes her head.

"Shut the fuck up, Swan," she laughs, and I giggle right along with her.

The Leah and Jacob story is… complicated. Unbeknownst to me, Jacob's sidekick Sam dated Leah for years until he cheated on her with her best friend, Emily. In retaliation, Leah slept with an old flame of Emily's - Jacob. I'd had no idea any of it had happened.

Thankfully for Leah, she figured out the real reason she'd been so upset pretty quickly - she wasn't heartbroken over the loss of Sam, she was heartbroken over the loss of _Emily_ … who she'd been in love with for as long as she could remember.

"The best and worst moment of my life was telling my Mom I was gay, and her saying she'd already known," Leah had once told me.

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, gazing out the front window of her favorite little cafe right near the USC campus and people-watching.

"So…"

I look at her, raising my brows in question. She purses her lips, and my stomach drops.

"Uh oh," I mumble. "That's never good."

Leah looks at me for a long, long moment and doesn't say a word. When she does, I can't stop my incredulous gasp.

"You're doing it again, aren't you?"

I gape like a guppy for a moment, self-consciously hugging my sweater closer, cheeks flaming.

"Excuse me?"

Leah ' _tsks_ ', rolling her eyes and leaning forward, lowering her voice to a hushed hiss.

"Don't pull that shit with me. It's happening again, right?"

I clench my jaw, biting down hard and understanding for the first time just why Edward does it so often.

"I don't know what you want me to say here, Lee."

She shakes her head, long black hair a shiny curtain waving about her as she does.

"You don't have to say a Goddamn word. It's written all over you. When's the last time?"

I scoff, shake my head and look out the window once more. "Almost four months ago. You know that already."

"Bull-fucking- _shit!_ " she snaps, and I jump - as do the patrons sitting in our vicinity. They look at us warily, most likely taking in the way I cower in my seat as Leah rests her forearms on the table and leans forward. "You not telling me the truth doesn't make it any better. There's such a thing as lying by omission, you know."

"I'm not _lying!_ " I hiss. "I haven't… not since that last time. But, there's been…"

I hesitate, and Leah's stern expression drops. I'm nervous, and I don't really know why - not until she says it.

"I know you think I have an obligation to tell my Mother if you're… if you're using again," she says, looking uncomfortable with the word. "I don't. That was never in the rules of this little arrangement. In fact, there are no rules. So, don't be scared, Bells. You can trust me."

Trust. An interesting concept. Not something I have a particularly hard time with, if I'm honest. I trust easily - perhaps too easily. I trusted Sue the first time I met her, and Leah. I trusted Edward, implicitly and instantly.

My heart clenches at the thought of him, and I remember why I'm here.

' _You're hurting us… hurting me_ ,' he'd said. And I had.

It's been almost a week since his show at The Six, and almost a week since I last spoke to him. I've been too ashamed, too nervous to reach out first - though I know I should.

Alice had told me as much, stopping me on our walk to the lunchroom the Monday after that night.

"You need to call him, B," she'd hissed, her burgundy-painted nails stark against the ghostly pale of my skin as she wrapped a hand around my forearm. "He won't make the first move… he shouldn't have to."

She was right, of course - but how would _she_ know? I asked her as much.

She looked almost sheepish as she fished her phone out of her bag and tapped around a few times before handing it over to me. His name was at the top of a text message thread. I read the words with greedy eyes.

Alice: **It's not what it looked like. Give her a chance to explain.**

I read his response eagerly, chewing my lip nearly to the point of pain.

 **What did it look like, then? I really thought after that night… Fuck, I don't even know.**

I gasped, stumbling a bit as my breathing faltered. Alice gripped my arm tighter, leading us into the cafeteria.

 **You know it's complicated. There are implications. It's why you're not going public with her, right? Trust me, she's doing this for you.**

My heart swelled with affection for my dearest friend and I reached for her hand as I read on, grasping it tightly. Alice had come over the night after the show, and I'd filled her in on the… arrangement I'd made with Jacob. She, understandably, wasn't happy. We'd stayed up until nearly two in the morning trying to figure out how I could get out of it.

There was no other way. This was blackmail at its finest.

"Very fitting… perhaps I'll call him Jacob _Black_ -mail," Alice had snapped.

 **What? Jesus, Alice, can't you just tell me what's going on?**

His frustration was palpable, even through text.

 **I'm sorry, Edward. It's not my place to say.**

His response had my breathing shallow, my chest tightening unbearably until I felt as if I would break.

 **Fine. Tell her she'll just have to explain it to me herself. I'm done with always being the first to apologize.**

He was right. It _had_ always been him. Not just apologizing... but texting first, calling first. I had been letting him take the reigns, call all the shots. I was becoming a passive observer in my own life. I knew I had to fix things… fix _everything_.

I suppose that had to start with… well, with me. I'd been putting off meeting up with Leah for weeks, but I knew I had to do _something_.

Contacting Sue was a step too far. I couldn't fathom going back to the clinic, being so detached from my friends, from Edward. I couldn't go back there, not when everything was so uncertain.

Hence, Leah.

"Tell me the truth. What's going on?" she asks.

So, I do. For the first time in a long time, I tell the truth.

Well, my version of it.

Leah beams when I tell her about Edward, and cries when I tell her about Charlie and my birthday. She turns red when I tell her about Rosalie and the party. I leave out the drugs.

Most of all, she looks about ready to kill when I mention Jacob kissing me.

"I barely remember it, though," I weakly argue. "It's fine."

"Just because you don't remember it, doesn't mean it was right. Just the opposite, actually," she bites.

When I tell her about sneaking into my Dad's liquor cabinet and showing up to the show at The Six wasted, she purses her lips like she's trying to hold back.

"What?" I sigh. "Just say it."

"I may not be as knowledgeable about all of this as my Mom is, but I know enough to know… you can't swap one vice for another," she says, and I nod. I know she's right. "This is… this is really something I should be telling her."

"You can't!" I choke, reaching across to grasp her wrist. Leah looks down at my grip on her cautiously. "I can't… I don't want to go back there."

"Sometimes it's not about what you want, B. It's about what you need."

"I need my friends. I need to be at home," I sniffle, feeling pathetic as tears pool hot and sudden in my eyes. "I need… I need _him_ , Lee. _I need Edward_. He's my medicine."

Leah shakes her head. "That's not good, Bella. You can't depend on him to fix you. He's only human."

I sniff again. "I know. I know that. He's just… he makes me…"

Her eyes soften as I stutter and struggle through the words and she flips her wrist, grasping my hand.

"He makes you what?"

I rub roughly at my face with the long sleeve of my cardigan.

"He makes me want to be better. For him."

Leah tilts her head, her smile a little sad. "That's great, Bells - but what about being better for _yourself?_ "

I roll my eyes, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. I know she expects a response, but I don't have the one she wants to hear.

How do I tell her I don't deserve it? How do I tell her that she knows most of the story, but not all of it? That if she did, she'd probably think I was as much of a monster as I know I am. They all would.

Even Edward.

"I think you should see my Mom."

I choke. "But… but, I'm not… I can't…"

Leah shakes her head. "No, not at the clinic. At our house."

* * *

Being Jacob Black's arm candy for a night is more work than I expect.

Somewhere between the charity auction and the open bar, I find myself being backed into a corner by a tall blonde with a severe bob. Her shimmering blue dress is gorgeous, as is she, but the scowl on her face and the words that come from her mouth make her uglier than anything.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck away from Jake Black."

I'm shocked - so shocked, it takes me a moment too long to reply. A moment that, in her eyes, means she's won.

"I knew you'd understand," she hisses, twirling a lock of my hair around her finger.

I step away quickly, my back hitting the wall behind me with a definitive ' _thud_.'

"Don't touch me," I say, voice wavering despite myself.

"Aw… poor little Basket-case Bella. You're more fucked up than I thought, if you can't take a little friendly competition. I guess everything they've said is true," she smiles. It's sly and dark and makes my stomach churn. "Maybe I should call you 'Black-Widow Bella' instead, hmm? Poor _Riley_. He never stood a chance with you."

And just like it's a switch, like that one word flips everything, I'm done. I stalk past her, uncaring of the way my shoulder sharply connects with her arm as I pass; uncaring of the way she screeches and crows behind me as I push through the crowd and straight to the bar.

Jacob is already there, which is... typical. He smiles as he sees me coming, holding out his arm.

"Izzy! So nice of you to join us," he says. I stand beside him, arms crossed, not stepping toward him. He clears his throat and smiles tightly at the small group around him, waiting until their conversation starts up again before leaning down and hissing in my ear. "You know, I asked you here as my date for a _reason_. If you look like you're disgusted with me all night, people will talk."

"People are already talking," I spit, not looking at him.

"About what?" he asks, his voice sounding dangerous. His tone is so coarse, I chance a glance.

His posture is too-straight, a champagne flute clutched dangerously tight in his hand. He's scanning the crowd with furrowed brows and for a brief second, I see the Jacob I used to know - the one who would defend my honor, not tarnish it.

I take the long-stemmed glass from his hand.

"It doesn't matter. How much longer do I have to be here?" I say, bringing the flute to my lips and polishing off the remaining bubbly liquid quickly. It's good - sweet, but not cloying so, with just the right amount of fruity tartness. Expensive.

It makes me wonder if all the money they're raising tonight is really going to the charity they claim it is, if this whole thing is so extravagant. Who's footing the bill?

"A couple of hours, at least."

I place the empty glass on the bar behind me with a sigh, looking pointedly at it. Jacob follows my gaze.

"Then, I'm going to need a lot more of that _._ "

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Jacob delivers. An indeterminate amount of time later - as after the fifth glass, time seems to become irrelevant - I find myself in the overly-luxe bathroom of this overly-luxe hotel, sitting atop the counter in lieu of standing on shaky feet.

My phone is pressed to my ear, the seemingly never-ending ringing loud and clear over the line. My heart is in my throat, and I feel like I can't breathe - not until I talk to him.

Silence for a brief moment, and I hold my breath. The answering machine picks up.

' _Next up on Public Radio FM107, we'll be hearing the music of Edward Cullen with his 'Beep Serenade in C-Sharp Minor, Opus 17'…'_ '

My laughter is full of snorts and stupid little giggles as the beep sounds, but I can't help it.

"You're so fucking cute," is the first thing I think, so it's what I say. "That was adorable. You're adorable. Who even thinks of that?"

I laugh again but it stops abruptly, because… he didn't pick up.

He's always picked up.

"You're… you didn't… you must be busy," I stutter, my dizzy head suddenly spinning too much. I feel sluggish and nauseous and awful, and I miss my boy. I miss his smell. I miss his arms around me.

I don't say any of that. Instead, I say:

"I miss you. I'm sorry. Call me back... please."

I hang up, holding my phone in both hands and staring at it. I feel sad, so sad - and tired and messy, too. All at once, I'm reminded of why I never used to drink: it makes me feel too out-of-control.

"Are you alright?"

I jump, holding a hand to my chest, and look up at the girl in front of me. Her hair is red and long, curly and pretty and she looks put-together and perfect.

I look over my shoulder, studying myself in the mirror. My hair is loose and wild, framing my face in big, tangled curls. My mascara is smudged. My lipstick is gone, left on the rims of too many champagne flutes.

 _Am I alright?_

"I wouldn't say that, no."

The girl smiles, nodding knowingly and placing her little clutch on the counter as she rifles through it quickly, expertly.

All at once, I know what this is.

"I don't have any cash on me," I say, already moving to hop off the counter. I know what's in her bag, and I don't want it anywhere near me. Not now, not when I'm already so fucking weak. If I saw it now, I'd…

"I don't want anything for it," she says, putting her hand on my upper arm and stopping me from moving any further. Her eyes are kind, a warm hazel hue, and I shouldn't trust her but I think I kind of do. "Really. This is strictly off-the-books."

"I can't have it," I say, my voice louder than I intended. The girl's eyes widen. "I… I'm recovering."

She regards me with a wry smile, and her critical eye makes me feel uncomfortable. Like she's _really_ seeing me.

"You're doing a pretty shitty job of it, to be honest," she sighs, pulling a pill bottle out of her clutch. "Don't worry, this isn't anything illegal. Just a little something to get you back on your feet for a few hours."

" _A little something_?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes. I can see they're pills, not powder, but that doesn't mean much here.

"An upper... Ritalin," she says, rolling her eyes. "I've told my parents I don't have an attention disorder but they refuse to believe me. It used to annoy me, until I realized they're a great little pick-me-up when you've had a bit too much to drink."

She hands me the pill bottle. I eye it warily, and she shakes it in front of my face. The little light-yellow pills sound like a maraca as they bounce around inside the clear plastic tube.

I take it from her, scanning the label.

 _Dr. S. West  
_ _West, Renesmee  
_ _Methylphenidate, 5mg.  
_ _(Ritalin)_

"Let me guess… your Dad's a doctor?"

She smiles. "My Mom, actually. Dr. Sulpicia West… and people think _my_ name is weird. You can call me Nessie."

I shouldn't trust this girl. Nothing about her particularly screams 'clean-cut', least of all the way she knew what I meant when I said I didn't have any cash.

Trust. I trust too easily.

"Old habits die hard," I sigh, opening the bottle and shaking a few pills out into my palm. I pop them, swallowing with the last dregs of champagne from my glass and grimacing at the feeling as they slide down my throat.

An hour later, I feel like I might die.

Nessie was right - for the first little bit, I'd felt better. Not great, but good. Passable. I'd been able to walk back into the party and socialize normally. I'd hung off of Jacob's arm as he chatted up this business man and that entrepreneur. I'd even had another glass of champagne.

As soon as we left to get into the limo, it all crashed down.

"Jacob…"

"Yeah, Izzy?"

I'm hot, too hot. My heart is beating nearly out of my chest, too fast, and I can't fucking keep my eyes open. I need to keep my eyes open, because the divider between us and the driver is up and Jacob's hands are on my waist and his lips are on my neck and my arms are too heavy to push him away.

Panic rises quickly, an overwhelming surge.

"Jacob… get _off_ …"

I'm slurring - fuck, I'm _slurring!_ Can he even understand me? He hasn't stopped, so he must not have.

" _Jacob_ …"

"Shh, just shut up and enjoy this. Shit, you don't know how long I've been waiting…"

We take a sharp turn and I slide across the leather seat, closer to him. He groans and my stomach twists, turns, and tumbles - in the worst way.

I feel his hand go up my skirt. I try to hold my knees together but he just pushes them apart, and I'm reminded so suddenly of the way my boy did the same thing. But it's _not_ the same - it's so, so different. Different because it was Edward, different because I wanted it.

Different because I love him.

This isn't Edward. I don't want it. And I don't love Jacob Black.

"Don't," I say, pushing at his hands. I'm too quiet, he can't hear me - especially with the way he's got his head buried in between my breasts. I feel myself start to sweat, my heart slamming so hard against my rib cage, it's painful.

 _You need to do something. You need to stop him._

 _Stop him._

 _Bella, stop him!_

"No!" I cry, using every ounce of strength I have left to bring my knee to my chest and kick out.

Everything is blurry and dark and I can't see much, but I can certainly feel and hear. I can hear Jacob's grunt as he makes contact with the side of the limo. I can feel my small clutch on the floor beneath me, feel when the limo stops.

I can hear the driver shutting his door and coming around to our's.

I can feel Jacob's hand on my ankle, pulling me toward him, and I feel when I swing and make contact on his body with my clutch.

I can hear his voice... a hiss of pain, then a dangerous whisper.

"You _fucking bitch_ …"

And then she's there's light, street light, as the door opens.

"Miss Swan, we've arrived," the driver says, and I'm up and out of the car before he can even finish speaking.

"Just a little bit of foreplay, you know," Jacob is saying, his excuses falling on deaf ears as the limo driver steadies me, one hand on my waist and one under my elbow.

"Yeah... sure, kid," he mumbles, turning us away and speaking under his breath. "Fucking scumbag. Are you alright, Miss Swan?"

No, I am definitely not alright. I don't know if I can even speak to thank him for what he's done. If he hadn't come around when he did…

"Thank you," I mumble, struggling to keep my eyes open. "Thank you. I'm…"

The front doors are open. How did that happen? I'm stumbling into the foyer, my heels making uneven click-clack sounds against the floors, and the air-conditioning feels so good on my overheated skin.

"Will you be alright to make it upstairs on your own?" he says.

"Yes, yes. I'll… I'm fine," I stutter, starting to say ' _I'll get my Dad to help me_ ' but knowing it's in vain. He's not even home. He'd have come out if he were home.

If he did, I'd have this man tell Charlie everything, everything he saw and heard. He would have known, then… he would have seen.

"Alright. I'll leave you to it," the man says, leading me to the stairs and placing one of my hands on the railing. "And don't worry, Miss. I won't… I won't tell a soul."

 _Tell them!_ I want to scream. _Tell everyone!_

But I can't get the words out. My mouth is dry and my body is slow, even if my brain isn't, and by the time I can finally form the words... he's gone.

The trip upstairs is arduous and grueling, and I ditch my heels halfway and make the rest of the journey with bare feet. I just barely make it to the bathroom before I vomit. It's so familiar, I should be concerned.

I'm not. I can't feel anything but hot and tired and dizzy.

I gag and gasp, gripping the toilet bowl with both hands and purging a night of mistakes into porcelain. When I'm done, I follow the usual steps: flush, rinse, brush my teeth. Repeat until all the evidence is gone.

The rest of the night goes, almost as if I'm on autopilot. Like this is all muscle memory.

Really, it is.

I strip out of my dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor. I'm so caught up in how thankful I am that my underwear were still on, I don't notice how hot the shower is until my skin is nearly scalded. I scrub and scrub and scrub some more, until my skin feels raw and my face is quite literally squeaky clean. I towel off quickly and throw on the same big t-shirt I slept in last night, not willing to make the extra trek to my dresser.

My phone is on my bed beside my clutch, still lit up from the text that just came through. I sink under my covers and scramble for the device, unlocking it and staring at the screen with bleary eyes.

 **I just saw your message. I don't even know what you did, but I forgive you. Maybe that makes me a fool. I don't care. I miss you, too.**

I just manage to text Edward back before sleep overtakes me.

 **I adore you.**

* * *

If there's one good thing that comes out of that horrific night, it's my car.

When I came downstairs the next morning, Charlie was in a fantastic mood, grinning at me from over the top of his morning paper. The reason why had my skin crawling.

"So… you and Jacob, huh?"

I choked on my water, coughing and sputtering.

"What?" I'd huffed.

"You and Jake? I heard you had a nice time at the gala."

All at once, I understood.

"Oh, yeah? Who'd you hear that from?" I asked, dumping the rest of my glass down the sink, stomach rolling. "Billy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he'd grinned.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Dad, but there is no Jacob and I."

Charlie put down his paper, frowning.

"Oh… well, you know, it's just a matter of time."

I swallowed hard to keep back my gag.

 _A matter of time, my ass…_

"Either way, I'm glad you two seem to be spending more time together. In fact…" he'd said, reaching into his pocket. He placed something shiny atop the counter, sliding it toward me. I gaped. "You're going to need an easier way to get around, if you guys will be seeing each other often."

My car keys sat in front of me like some sort of strange peace offering. I hesitated. Did taking them mean I was encouraging Charlie's ridiculous notions? Did not taking them seem like an insult? Was this what I needed in order to repair our relationship?

 _Although,_ I reasoned, _he wouldn't really know if I was going out to see Jacob when I left… or someone else._

I picked up the keys. Charlie grinned.

I knew my first destination almost instantly.

As soon as Charlie left for the day, I was on the move - packing a bag, calling Alice and asking her to cover for me.

"Can you just… _please_ tell me where you're going, B?"

"I'm staying with a... a sober companion, from the clinic. Trust me, I'll be fine. I'll be safe."

"What will I tell Edward?" she'd said, switching tactics and hitting me right where it hurt. "He's going to go crazy if he doesn't know."

I threw on the Northwestern hoodie, breathing in the faint remnants of his warm honey and lilacs and boy, and sighed.

"Tell him the same thing I'm telling you. I'm fine, and I'll be safe. I'll see you in a couple of days."

If it seems like it's easy to be so flippant about Edward, about my love-screaming heart, it isn't. I want more than anything to hop in my car and drive straight to wherever he is.

But, this is good. This needs to happen, for both of us. He might be a little upset, but it'll be... _better,_ when I'm back.

It's a mantra I repeat as I drive along the PCH toward Malibu, windows open and music blasting. My hair is loose and the sun is high, and it smells like ocean water and sunshine and possibilities. Every mile away from Beverly Hills feels simultaneously freeing and constricting: freeing, being further from Jacob and school and that little baggie of powder; constricting, because every mile I go is a mile further from my friends and my boy, my heart and soul.

I've never been to The Clearwater's beach house before but as I pull up, I seriously start to wonder how it is that any of them ever leaves.

The front looks like something straight out of Cape Cod, two stories of brick and chimneys and white wooden siding, a grey tiled roof and blue shutters. The front door is painted canary yellow and just around the side, I can make out a seemingly endless stretch of beach.

Standing on the small front porch, hands clasped over her heart, is Sue Clearwater. My own heart feels like it might burst.

I've just shut off the engine and stepped down onto the driveway when Sue's arms are around me, holding me so, so tight. She smells just the same - like cinnamon and clean laundry.

She smells like a Mother.

My eyes fill with tears and I choke out a sob before I can stop myself, burying my face in her neck.

"Don't cry, mija," Sue soothes, rubbing my back in big, even circles. "Do not cry, dearest. You'll be okay. Everything will be okay."

I cry harder, wondering if she remembers that first night… how she said almost the exact same words to me as she washed me and held my shivering body in a bathtub not too far from here.

' _It'll be alright... everything will be okay_ ,' she'd said, rinsing shampoo from my hair. I'd watched the water as it swirled down the drain, staring blankly at the light pink color of it.

"Come, Isabella," Sue smiles, pulling back and holding my face in both of her hands, staring at me fondly. "We have so much to talk about."

* * *

"He calls you _what_?"

I laugh around a spoonful of what Sue told me is called ' _sancocho_ ', an absolutely delicious, hearty soup she explained her Mother used to make when she was feeling poorly. I surprised the both of us when I finished the first bowl and immediately went back for a second.

"' _Baby,_ '" I giggle. "Sometimes ' _Baby Girl_ '... sometimes just ' _girl_.'"

"And you actually _like_ that?" Sue asks, her voice raising an octave. I cover my mouth as I laugh again, nodding. She ' _tsks_ ' and shakes her head, and I now see where Leah gets it from. "You young people… very strange."

"Just wait until you meet your boy," I smile, wiping my mouth with a cloth napkin and sitting back in my chair. "You'll see."

Sue shakes her head, tucking hair behind her ears and looking out to the water. I know she's not upset or sad - it's been just about five years since her husband Harry passed and though she inherited his wealth and fortune, it's no substitute for having him here. Despite all that, she's assured me time and time again that she's ready to move forward.

"To live my life for the both of us. I know that's what he'd want," she'd once told me.

We're quiet for a moment, just watching the waves roll along the shore. Sue's beach house has two large outdoor seating areas - an upper deck, and another below it. That's where we sit now, eating our lunch and watching the tide roll out, the brick of the ground blending seamlessly into the sand and the stretch of beach leading to the water.

"It's so beautiful here," I sigh, tugging the sleeves of the Northwestern hoodie down as a breeze rolls through. "I'd never imagined Malibu could be this…"

"Quiet? Serene?" she smiles.

"Yes to both. I can see why you love it. It's peaceful… and, this _house_ ," I breathe, looking behind me. Just through the glass floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the rustic country kitchen with its fireplace and copper farmhouse sink, brick floors and cozy breakfast area.

"I know. I can't believe I get to live here."

"You deserve it," I say.

Sue purses her lips and holds out her hand, and I grip it quickly.

"I didn't always think so. It took me a long, long time to work up the courage to buy it. First, it was hard letting go of Harry and I's home and then it was hard justifying spending that much money on something I wanted," she says. "I'm no angel, mija. No one is. But, I was using the things I'd done wrong in my life as excuses. I was selling myself short, even though it wasn't right."

"Somehow, I think we're talking about something more…" I say, a bit weary.

She sits up, grasping my hand in both of her's.

"You're very smart, Isabella, almost too smart for your own good. You overthink. Just because you've done bad things in the past, it doesn't mean you don't deserve good things now."

I purse my lips and look away.

"I respectfully disagree. There's such a thing as karma, but sometimes… sometimes, it's a little too easy on you. Sometimes, you have to take things into your own hands. To even your own score."

Sue sighs, shaking her head. "I can see I won't be getting through to you today. You are a tough shell to crack."

"So I've been told."

"Just remember," she says. "We accept the love we think we deserve."

I stare at her for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

"Oh, hush!" she smiles, throwing my hand back at me.

"Did you… did you just quote ' _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ ' at me?"

"I said _hush_ , Isabella!"

"Oh, I most certainly will not!"

"Why, do you not enjoy the film?" she says, standing and gathering our bowls. I get up as well, grabbing our glasses and following her into the kitchen.

"On the contrary… I absolutely loved it. The book _and_ the film. I just can't believe you know it, too."

Sue shrugs. "Got to keep up with the kids somehow. Besides… that Sam, she reminds me of someone."

I turn away, busying myself with dumping our water down the sink in lieu of looking at her knowing expression.

* * *

I spend three wonderful days at Sue's home, one day longer than I'd intended, but by the time Tuesday morning rolls around I feel lighter than I have in… I can't even remember how long.

I wake up every morning to the sound of waves crashing on the shore, sun shining through the bay window in the guestroom and through the gauzy white curtains making everything glow. Sue and I drink coffee - decaf, with a big spoonful of condensed milk - on the back porch every morning. We eat three meals a day - keyword, _we_. I can only eat half of what's dished for me and I feel uneasy after each meal but they're all so delicious, I can't help myself.

We walk along the beach and I play catch in the sand with Sue's Jack Russell Terrier, Rio. We watch ' _Selena_ ' the second night I'm there, and cry so hard we start to hiccup. Sue plays me all her favorite songs, and I learn an easy version of 'Como La Flor' on Seth's acoustic guitar for her. I don't know the lyrics but Sue does, and she teaches them to me. My accent isn't the greatest but by the end of the night, we're both singing it loud enough to make Rio howl and jump around us.

I have time by myself too, which is something I didn't think I would like.

"To make up for all those times I had to be glued by your side at the clinic," Sue says.

I read, by the fireplace or out on the deck. I write in my journal, filling pages and pages with words. I snag Seth's guitar again and practice a few songs, learn a few more.

I keep my phone off the entire time. It taunts me from the bedside table each night. I want nothing more than to switch it on, to call Edward and hear his voice and tell him all about my day… but I don't.

I leave on Tuesday morning, early enough to make it to school for most of the day with promises to come back soon - and bring Edward with me next time, or else.

"I mean it!" Sue says, wagging a finger in my face. I roll my eyes, smiling. "Ah, ah! Don't you roll your eyes at me… I'm serious, Isabella. I want to see your boy with my own two eyeballs."

"Yes, Sue."

"And, the next time after that, you can bring Alice and Rosalie. We'll have a girl's weekend… I'll even convince Leah to come!"

I laugh out loud at the image of _Leah_ at a _sleepover_. "Good luck with that."

"Hush. Tell Jasper I said 'hello', and don't forget to give him his besitos!"

I shake the Tupperware container in my hands, the little coconut cookies inside rattling around.

"Now, get going before you're any later for school," Sue smiles, wrapping me up in her arms and kissing both of my cheeks. For a moment, everything feels so… normal. Like this could be my Mom sending me off in the morning, like it could be any other day.

But, it's not. Sue isn't my Mom, no matter how much I wish she was.

My Mom is somewhere in Seattle, with powder in her nose or a needle in her arm, forgetting that I ever existed.

"Thank you, for… for everything."

"Any time, mi hija."

* * *

My bag is still in the back seat as I drive into the school parking lot, hair still wet from my shower at Sue's. My face is free of makeup. My dress is a-line, ¾ sleeved with black-and-white polka dots and a collar, hitting just to my knees. My Doc's are still black and scuffed and well-loved.

I'm me, but a little bit different. A little bit lighter, perhaps.

I loiter in my car, letting the music play - my soundtrack on the way back had been the entirety of ' _Gish_ ', and I'd played 'Crush' over and over again until the bass line had been thrumming in my bloodstream. For some reason, the song just sounded like _Edward_. Pushing my nerves aside, I reach into my bag and grab my phone, powering it on.

Texts and missed calls come through one after the other, in a seemingly endless stream.

Alice: **Oh, B... this was a bad, bad idea. Your boy is going crazy.**

Rosalie: **Where the fuck are you? Allie won't tell me shit. Are we keeping secrets now?**

Dad: **I expected you home from Alice's last night. Where are you, Isabella?**

I hesitate to open the one name that shows up more than any other, taking a deep breath before I do. I read the most recent text first.

 **I'm fucking losing it, Baby. What the hell have you done? Where are you? Please tell me you're okay. Just one call or text.**

My breath stops altogether. There are so many, I can hardly keep up. I keep scrolling, reading from newest to oldest and pausing at the ones that have me feeling like my chest is caving in.

One of Monday evening's texts has tears welling in my eyes:

 **Bella, please. What's going on? I'm scared out of my mind here.**

Another from earlier that day makes me choke:

 **Did Jacob have anything to do with this? I swear to God, I'll kill him.**

But, it's the one from early Sunday morning, just as I was on the road to Malibu, that makes me lose it:

 **I'm sorry, Baby - I just woke up, I wish I'd seen this sooner. I adore you, too. Every part of you. I need to see you today.**

I tap on his name, bringing the phone to my ear. It rings once before he picks up.

"Bella?"

He's all panicked, out-of-breath boy.

 _I did this to him. I fucking did this to him._

"Edward," I cry, holding a hand over my mouth.

"Shit," he chokes. " _Shit_. Bella, you're… _fuck!_ "

His voice is a roar, but I hear him whimpering. Breathing hard and fast, he sounds…

He sounds terrified.

"I'm sorry," I croak, nearly on the verge of wailing.

"Bella, you have no idea. No _fucking idea_ …"

"I'm _sorry_ ," I say again, my forehead on the steering wheel, eyes closed as tears drip into my lap like a faucet. "So sorry."

I listen, holding my breath to hear him better. He whimpers, I shudder. He sniffs, I choke. After so long, I start to feel like I might pass out, he speaks.

"You know what?" Edward snaps, voice hoarse. "Fuck your ' _sorry_.' You have no clue, do you? What you did to me? I thought… I thought you were…"

"I'm okay. I'm fine, Edward."

"I thought you were _dead!_ "

I gasp. He groans, a never-ending string of curse words flowing from him between broken sobs.

"Where are you?"

"What?" I say. "At school. What are you…"

The line goes dead.

* * *

I sit through my classes on the edge of my seat. At lunch, I see Alice and Rosalie for the first time. It takes a long time to convince them I was at Sue's, and I have to show them a picture she took of Rio and I on the beach to solidify it.

Emmett pulls me aside and asks what I did to his brother. I'm too guilt-sick to answer.

It's during my French period with Alice that it happens.

The classroom phone rings. I jump. Alice looks at me, eyes wide.

"Oh, _mon dieu_ …" she whispers.

"What?" I breathe. " _What?_ "

"Miss Swan?" Mademoiselle Goff says, placing the phone back on it's receiver. "Your Father's assistant is in the front office to pick you up."

"He actually did it," Alice squeaks, packing up my papers and books for me. I'm frozen stock-still, unable to move. "I can't believe he really did it. Holy shit, B."

"Who?" I ask, taking my bag from her with shaky hands. It's a stupid question - I already know. "Who did _what?_ "

Alice just shakes her head, lips pursed.

I make my way through the halls slowly, foolishly trying to draw out the inevitable. I didn't have to ask Alice ' _who_ ', because I really did know. Even if I hadn't had the feeling all morning that something was going to happen, I could feel him.

I knew he was here.

And sure enough, as I round the corner to the front office, I hear him before I see him.

"Her Father is a very busy man, Mrs. Cope. Away on business a lot. It's rare that they get to see each other."

"Oh yes, I've heard as much. Mr. Swan is just wonderful, and so very _generous_ …"

His back is to me when I walk in but I know he's felt me, too. His back straightens and arms strain where he rests them against the tall counter top, hands in fists. I think I can actually _see_ his breathing stop.

Cope's eyes land on me, and I know I'm not imagining it when I see a flicker of disappointment cross her face.

"Miss Swan! I was beginning to think we'd have to send a search party out for you," she laughs, loudly.

Edward's back tenses even further beneath his t-shirt. His shoulder blades lock. Then, he turns - slowly, so slowly - to look at me over his shoulder.

His eyes make me gasp.

Rolling, burning, churning green... so vibrant and blazing, angry. He's a forest fire. He's all smoke and ash, my fire and flame.

And he's beautiful.

Even in his anger, in his distress, he's the _most_ beautiful thing - ever.

Everything comes rushing forward at once, so suddenly it shakes me.

"I… I have to get something. From my locker."

I take a step back. Edward straightens to his full height, shoulders back. Mrs. Cope eyes him, brows raised.

"I'll just be a minute," I say, fully intending to be much longer than a minute. I have the route in my mind already - from here, I'll head toward my locker but turn down the Arts wing and cut through the currently empty music room. The back door will put me right by the parking lot, and then it's just a short walk to my car.

I'll apologize later, in a million different ways, a million different languages. I'll grovel at his feet, if he wants me to. Anything.

I just can't do this. Not right now.

I take another step back. He takes two forward.

"I…"

"What are we waiting for? Your Father is waiting. Lead the way, _Miss Swan_."

The way he says it makes me clench my fists. When I take another step back, he moves so quickly I barely have time to react. In just a few short strides he's beside me, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind him.

"Thank you so much for your help, Mrs. Cope," he says over his shoulder, voice rough. Our skin isn't touching, but I feel him through the fabric of my dress. I can _smell him_ , that maddening scent that makes my head spin.

"Any time, Anthony!"

" _Anthony_?" I breathe as we round the corner.

"My middle name," he mumbles, and I stumble. He steadies me.

 _I didn't even know his middle name._

"Where are we going?" I whisper, watching his face as his eyes dart around. We're moving further into the English wing, past classrooms full of students. I'm asking stupid questions.

It's fairly clear.

When he finally finds an empty classroom, more than five rooms away from any occupied one, I'm a mess - half-hoping it's locked, and half-hoping it isn't. He tries the doorknob.

It's unlocked.

I wilt. Edward's shoulders relax as he rushes us through the door, and I walk forward hesitantly. I'm truly not sure if I'm relieved or not.

My back is to him, but I can still hear when he locks the door and pulls the little screen down over the small window.

Then, it's just us - us and the strange blue afternoon light streaming through the windows, us and the dust motes and the empty desks. Everything smells like old books and stolen moments and _him, him, him._

The silence is stifling.

I grip onto the strap of my bag with both hands, twisting the leather in my grip over and over again.

"Stop it."

My hands still. My breathing halts.

"Put your bag on that desk, the one to your left."

I hesitate for the briefest of moments before, slowly, I do.

"Look at me."

I close my eyes, biting my tongue against the pitiful sounds that want to escape like I want to grovel and beg for his forgiveness.

There's a bang, and I jump nearly out of my skin. When he speaks this time, it's a broken shout.

" _Look_ at me!"

I turn, barely breathing, and take him in.

Leaning back against the door, shoulders hunched, my boy is crying crystalline tears, his face splashed with angry splotches of red high on his cheekbones. His hand is still in a fist, still against the door where I know he must have slammed it. He's clenching his jaw and his chest is heaving, and all I can think is: _he's mine_.

 _He's_ _mine_. I've pissed him off, scared him and I think I'm slowly wrecking him - but I'm not afraid he'll leave. I know he won't. He's mine and I'm his, and this is so fucking scary and big but it's _our's_.

"I was in Malibu," I say, my voice shaking in time with my body.

"Don't," Edward says, closing his eyes.

"I was with Sue. She's... she's from the clinic. You know, the one I was in this summer?"

"Bella… _stop_."

"I got my car back, and I needed to see her. I drove there on Sunday morning. I have pictures to prove it, if you don't believe me - "

" _Enough_!" he shouts, and I can't hold myself back from flinching. When he speaks again, it's through clenched teeth. "Stop talking. You need to listen to me."

I swallow hard, but say nothing.

A wry smile spreads across his face, humorless, and it makes my chest feel heavy.

"Well, that was easy. Is that is, then?" he says. "That's how to get through to you? Who knew... all this time, I was doing it wrong. Turns out being the nice guy gets me nowhere, huh?"

"That's not - "

" _Don't_. I don't want to hear it," he chokes, his composure crumbling for the briefest of moments. It's enough, though. I can see everything he's trying to hide - the hurt, the confusion, the fear. "Do you even know... I thought you were mine that night. But then, watching you throw yourself all over him…"

It hurts, this truth from him, because it may be obvious to _me_ that everything I am is his... but, not for him. The thought makes me want to wrap myself around him and tell him how much I belong to him, how I'll only ever belong to him until my throat is raw.

"I…"

"Damn it, Bella, let me finish!" Edward growls, striding forward. In one quick movement, he's got his hands around my upper arms and he's so close, I can smell cigarette smoke and peppermint gum on his breath.

I can recall, not too long ago, being held in a similar position by Jacob - funny, isn't it, how the only thing I'd wanted then was for him to let me go. Now, though… now, I want Edward to hold me tighter, squeeze more, mark me, bruise me with love. It makes me wonder if I'm sick, if there's something wrong with me.

It doesn't matter. I'll be sick for him.

"You don't tell me anything. You do all this shit and just expect me to understand. I don't, Bella. I don't fucking get it, because you won't _tell me_ ," he cries. "Alice said you and Jacob... that it wasn't what it seemed, and you had a reason."

Edward releases me, stepping back and running a hand through his hair, the other resting on his hip. He turns his back to me. I whimper and wrap my arms around him, resting my forehead between his shoulder blades.

"I don't even know if I want to know _why_ anymore."

He's shaking. I can feel him, my hands flat against his chest, his heart beat thrumming double-time beneath my hand. His shirt is soft and smells like clean laundry and him.

"I'll tell you why," I whisper. "I'll tell you anything."

I hear him swallow, and I hold him tighter. He still feels so good, even trembling beneath my touch as I run my hands along his cotton-covered abdomen, tracing all his perfect definition.

"What is it?" I say. The shiver that runs down his spine travels through me, too. "Tell me what to do to make this better."

"It's not that simple."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm saying…" I hesitate before slowly stepping around him. Only once we're face-to-face and he's looking at me, _really looking_ , do I speak. "I'm saying… that I want you to tell me what you _need_."

His stifled grunt is unmistakable, and his lips pout the tiniest bit when he closes his eyes again. His brows furrow, and he takes a step back.

"You. I just need you, without all the bullshit and lies."

I reach up before I lose my nerve and tangle my fingers in his hair, feeling silky-softness and reveling in the way he groans for me.

"I can do that," I murmur, raising to my tip-toes to press a kiss against the side of his neck.

"Don't say that if you don't mean it," he mumbles, tilting his head down. I feel his nose in my hair as his hands come slowly to my waist.

I don't want to lie to him. It makes me hesitate - only for the briefest of moments, but it's enough.

His growl sends a strange thrill down my spine, even as he steps back and disentangles my fingers from his hair. His hands move to my wrists, and I trap my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from saying something wanton and stupid.

"Stop trying to distract me," Edward snaps, releasing his grip on me. But, it's too late. I've tasted him after too long without, and I want more.

I wait until he has both hands in his hair before I move, slipping beneath his shirt and feeling smooth, perfect skin - his sides, abs, back and chest. He inhales sharply, hands flying to my shoulders, trying in vain to push me away.

"Bella…"

"Don't tell me to stop," I breathe, wrapping my arms fully around him and holding him to me.

"Baby, please. I can't…"

I loop one arm around his neck, the other still firmly locked around his waist, and he bends as I strain upward until finally, finally… our lips meet. His are soft and warm and sweet, and he tastes just like he should. My brain short-circuits, a constant loop of just a few words: _mine, boy, good, home, love._

When he pulls away, I hear his whimper and it breaks me. I'm crazed, high on him as I leave kisses anywhere I can reach.

"Bella, I need to talk to you."

"We'll talk," I manage, my lips brushing right atop his racing pulse-point. "Later."

"You have to know... I was so scared. I was going _insane_ ," he breathes, tangling his fingers into my hair and tugging, exposing my neck to him in one smooth move. When he speaks again, it's a muffled groan against my skin. "Don't ever do that to me again. Don't you fucking dare."

"I won't," I cry, as he backs me up against the large teacher's desk.

"Promise me. Swear it. I can't do that again, Bella. I _won't_."

"I swear, I swear. God, I _swear_."

I know he notices I didn't promise. I know it, because when he grabs my hips and lifts me easily onto the desk, I can feel him buzzing electric-heat anger.

"You do this to me. You turn me into this… this…"

I hear what he doesn't say, as he runs his hands up my bare legs and along the top edge of my panties. His long, strong fingers rub right over the dampest patch of cotton, right over when I need him the most and it's still not enough.

For the first time, I reach out and stroke my fingers along the hard, solid bulge in his jeans. He bucks and hisses, pressing closer.

"Like this?" I whisper. "Or like this?" Using my whole hand to press against the shape of him, I rub my palm all the way down his denim-covered length. He's big, and I know before taking even one look that he's perfect.

Edward's forehead drops to my shoulder and the hand not currently driving me insane slams down on the desk beside me, bracing himself.

"Say it," I sigh. "Tell me you want more."

"Fuck, Baby, _yes_. I want more."

His fingers slip into my underwear at the precise moment I undo his button and fly, and it's white-hot heat and fucking magic when he runs his fingers all along me, from top to bottom.

"Shit," he groans, open-mouthed and panting as I push his jeans down, boxers following right after. I can't stop myself from looking at him as soon as he's bare.

"I knew it," I whimper, repeating his words from the first time he saw me right back to him.

I was so right, and so wrong - he _is_ perfect, but also so much more than I was expecting. I want to tell him it's pretty, because it kind of fucking _is,_ but I can't breathe let alone speak when I touch him. He's _soft, soft_ skin atop hot and hard, the tip of him glistening in the dull blue-light glow.

I grip him in one hand, giving a slow, firm stroke. In an instant, my panties are gone - but I don't have time to marvel at the speed with which white cotton falls to the floor before he's got two fingers inside me and his thumb is pressed firmly, perfectly on my most sensitive spot.

"Oh, _God_ …" he cries, breath hitching as I begin stroking him in time with his fingers moving. We're so perfectly in sync. He uses his free hand to hook under my knee and spread me even wider, and thrusts harder into my hand. "I want you... so fucking badly."

"Then have me," I groan, gripping his shirt and pulling him closer as I continue my rhythm. It brings him so near, I can feel the heat of him, feel the outside of his thighs against the inside of mine.

He gasps, hiding his face in my neck, breath hot and warm and wonderful.

"Bella, tell me to stop."

"No," I whine, pumping hard once, twice before rubbing my thumb along the tip of him. He groans, curling his fingers inside me just so. My heart stops.

"Baby, I'm not that strong. I'll take you right here if you don't."

Edward leans forward, lips brushing against my ear, and the movement brings his hips ever-closer. He brushes against my thigh and hisses; I burn.

"Please... _please_ , Bella. Not here. Not like this, not the first time," he says, voice rushed. "Tell me. Tell me to stop."

He's so desperate, so sincere, and I'm wild with wanting him but I know he's right.

So, I do.

"Stop," I say, just a breath, and he does. His hand stops and pulls out from me so suddenly, I have to bend forward to quell the empty ache, so deep inside.

"Are you okay?" he says, hands on either side of my neck, the tips of his fingers tangled in my hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't…"

I would feel bad about cutting him off, but I don't - I can't, not when everything feels so right and good the moment I wrap my legs around him and pull him forward, resting my hand at the base of him and running his slick, hot head from my clit right to my entrance.

"Ahh, _fuck_ ," he gasps, his head falling to the crook of my neck.

Desire heats every inch of me so quickly, I'm dizzy with it. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat, and it's like the world will end if I don't have him.

"Edward… oh, _shit_. Please."

His hands move from my hair to my hips, gripping so tight I hope they'll leave a mark. My body thrills at the idea. He moves the slightest bit closer, a minuscule amount, but it's enough for him to settle right at my entrance for the briefest, most shining moment.

It breaks us both.

He pulls back, angling his hips away from me as we both come apart endlessly, unendingly.

* * *

It's not our first time together, though it very nearly was. I understand why Edward asked me to stop.

If that _had_ been our first time… I wouldn't have regretted it, because I could never regret anything I do with him.

I would have been sad, though.

We deserve more. Our love is Earth-shaking, Heaven-bound love. Love that deserves more than a clandestine fuck atop a dusty old oak desk. Love that deserves more than a bashful boy, wiping himself from the floor with my panties as I adjust my skirt and laugh at his flushed cheeks that match my own.

I don't know when our first time together will be, but I know it'll be everything. How could it not?

There's so much left unsaid between us, so many questions unanswered - but we're both lazy-boned and heart-eyed fools, riding high off each other. Wordlessly, we agree to put the heavy conversations off for the day.

School is, predictably, a write-off for the rest of the afternoon. I find out that Edward posed as 'Anthony', Charlie's personal assistant, feigning picking me up for a lunch date with my jet-setting Dad. I commend him for his ingenuity, and reward him with a kiss that has us both flushed once more.

Edward's Mustang smells like leather and sunshine, and we return to Sonic - the scene of the crime - to redeem the most recent bad memory.

He gets a strawberry milkshake. I get a Cherry-Vanilla Coke. He gives me his Maraschino cherry. This time, I really do lick the whipped cream from his bottom lip.

We end up at the practice space, Edward's guitar in my lap as he teaches me the unmistakable opening riff from 'Alive'. When I run out of patience and he dissolves into the most adorable giggles, I crawl into his lap and plant a million and one kisses on his face.

"Well…"

A voice and a throat clearing has us breaking apart quickly, my heart pounding as I peer over the top of the couch to see Jasper standing in the doorway. His smile is mirthless, his eyes narrowed.

"I can't say I didn't see this one coming."

* * *

 **uh oh. i think it's funny i keep ending on these semi-cliffhangers, because i despise them whilst i'm reading other stories. oh well - we've come this far, why stop now?**

 **so, last chapter… overwhelming consensus is that jacob is the absolute worst, and i'm inclined to agree. i didn't really foresee him becoming the villain he is now, which makes all the hate for him that much better. if you can believe it, he was originally much nicer but _douche!jacob_ kind of has a mind of his own, you know? he really writes himself.**

 **thank you for all of your lovely reviews and messages here and on tumblr. i look forward to seeing what you have to say more than anything - please don't be afraid to reach out and tell me what you're thinking! i answer every single review, question and message. again, you guys are the fucking best.**

 ** _fic rec_ this week is another old fave (what else is new?) and it's ' _ethan church_ ' by dryler. so interesting, detailed and well-written. it has this kind of... sophisticated feel to it, if you know what i mean. bella gets an offer from a famous, reclusive author to stay at his creepy-cool mansion and write his biography. i don't think it's a stretch to think of who that author could be. featuring a bella that's entirely too relatable and an edward that'll have you weak in the knees, i can't recommend this enough if you're looking for a good vamp au.**

 **so... what did we think this week? let me know. until next time, you can find me on twitter ( _belladelabarre_ ) and tumblr ( _bellaofthebarre_ ) where i post music and aesthetics, and occasionally sneak-peeks for future chapters and stories. xx**

 _ **chapter 9 mixtape:  
**_ **track 1 - 'malibu' by hole  
** **track 2 - 'crush' by the smashing pumpkins ( _pretty much all of '_** **gish** _'_ ** _, really_ )  
** **track 3 - 'medicine' by the 1975  
** **track 4 - 'alive' by pearl jam**

* * *

 ***TRIGGER WARNING: Bella attends a party with Jacob and becomes inebriated. On the drive home, Jacob unsuccessfully attempts to become intimate with Bella, in spite of her protests. Strong language is used.***


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